
Class P_]R.S^ 
Rooic 7? 
GojpghtN^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



TO 

MY FATHER, 

THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
BY 

THE AUTHOR. 






A HISTORY 



OF 



English Prose Fiction 



FROM SIR THOMAS MALORY TO GEORGE ELIOT 



BAYARD TUCKERMAN 



(^ huv ^ mi \ 



NEW YORK 
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

27 & 29 WEST 23D STREET 
1882 



^<5 



o^ 



1/ 



COPYRIGHT EV 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
1882 



Press of 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 
The Romance of Chivalry i 

CHAPTER II. 
Chaucer, Tales of the Yeomanry, Sir T. More's " Utopia " 42 

CHAPTER III. 
The Age of Elizabeth. Lyly, Greene, Lodge, Sidney . . 60 

CHAPTER IV. 
The Puritans. "The Pilgrim's Progress" .... loc 

CHAPTER V. 
The Restoration. Roger Boyle, Mrs. Manley, Mrs. Behn . 112 

CHAPTER VI. 
The Eighteenth Century. Swift, Addison, Defoe, Richard- 
son, Fielding, Smollett 134 

CHAPTER VII. 
The Eighteenth Century Continued. Sterne, Johnson, Gold- 
smith, AND Others. Miss Burney and the Female Novel- 
ists. The Romantic Revival . . . ' , . . 220 

CHAPTER VIII. 
The Novel in the Nineteenth Century. The Novel of 
1 Life and Manners. Of Scotch Life. Of Irish Life. 
^ Of English Life. Of American Life. The Historical 
Novel. The Novel of Purpose. The Novel of Fancy. _ 
Use and Abuse of Fiction 274 



PREFACE. 

It is attempted in this volume to trace the gradual progress 
of English Prose Fiction from the early romance to the novel 
of the present day, in such connection with the social charac- 
teristics of the epochs to which these works respectively 
belong, as may conduce to a better comprehension of their 
nature and significance. 

As many of the earlier specimens of English fiction are of a 
character or a rarity which makes any acquaintance with them 
difficult to the general public, I have endeavored to so describe 
their style and contents that the reader may obtain, to some 
degree, a personal knowledge of them. 

The novels of the nineteenth century are so numerous and 
so generally familiar, that, in the chapter devoted to this 
period, 1 have sought rather to point out the great importance 
which fiction has assumed, and the variety of forms which it 
has taken, than to attempt any exhaustive criticism of individ- 
ual authors — a task already sufficiently performed by writers 

far more able to do it justice. 

The Author. 

" The Benedick" 
New York, A%ig. 22, i88a« 



CHAPTER I. 

THE ROMANCE OF CHIVALRY. 



T N the midst of an age of gloom and anarchy, when 
Feudalism was slowly building up a new social organ- 
ization on the ruins of the Roman Empire, arose that 
spirit of chivalry, which, in its connection with the Chris- 
tian religion, forms so sharp a division between the sen- 
timents of ancient and modern times. Following closely 
on the growth of chivalry as an institution, there came 
into being a remarkable species of fiction, which reflected 
with great faithfulness the character of the age, and hav- 
ing formed for three centuries the principal literary en- 
tertainment of the knighthood of Europe, left on the new 
civilization, and the new literature which had outgrown 
and discarded it, lasting traces of its natural beauty. 
Into the general fund of chivalric romance were absorbed 
the learning and legend of every land. From the gloomy 
forests and bleak mountains of the North came dark and 
terrible fancies, malignant enchanters, and death-dealing 
spirits, supposed to haunt the earth and sea ; from Ara- 
bia and the East came gorgeous pictures of palaces built 
of gold and precious stones, magic rings which transport 
the bearer from place to place, love-inspiring draughts, 
dragons and fairies ; from ancient Greece and Rome 
came memories of the heroes and mysteries of mytholo- 

X 



2 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

gy, like old coins worn and disfigured by passing, 
through ages, from hand to hand, but still bearing a 
faint outline of their original character. All this mass of 
fiction was floating idly in the imaginations of men, or 
worked as an embellishment into the rude numbers of 
the minstrels, when the mediaeval romancers gathered it 
up, and interweaving it with the traditions of Arthur and 
Charlemagne, produced those strange compositions which 
are so entirely the product and repository of the habits, 
superstitions, and sympathies of the Middle Ages that 
they serve to 

" Hold the mirror up to Nature, 
To show Vice its own image, Virtue its own likeness. 
And the very age and body of the times, 
His form and pressure." 

The men who wrote, and the men who read these ro- 
mances, the first springs of our modern fiction, were influ- 
enced by two dominant ideas: " One religious, which had 
fashioned the gigantic cathedrals, and swept the masses 
from their native soil to hurl them upon the Holy Land ; 
the other secular, which had built feudal fortresses, and 
set the man of courage erect and armed within his own 
domain." ' These two ideas were outwardly expressed in 
the Roman Church and the Feudal System. 

During the anarchy of the Middle Ages, every man was 
compelled to look upon war as his natural occupation, 
if he hoped to preserve life or property. His land was 
held as a condition of military service. As long as there 
was no effective administration of justice, redress for the 
aggrieved lay in the sword alone. A military career had 
no rival in the eyes of the ambitious and the noble. 

'Taine's " History of Eng. Lit.," Van Laun's trans,, chap, 3, pt. ii. 



INFLUENCE OF THE FEUDAL SYSTEM. 3 

There was no learning, no art, to share with skill in arms, 
the honors to which a youth aspired. Religion and love, 
the most powerful inspirations of his moral life, made 
force of arms the merit most worthy of their rewards. 
The growth of the people in the mechanical arts took the 
direction of improving the instruments of warfare ; the 
increase of refinement and humanity tended less to di-| 
minish war than to make it more civilized, showy, and 
glorious. The armies of the Romans seem prosaic when 
we turn to the brilliant array of chivalry, to the ranks of 
steel-clad knights couching the lance to win fame, the 
smile of woman, or the reward of religious devotion ; — 
men to whom war seemed a grand tournament, in which 
each combatant, from the king to the poorest knight, was 
to seek distinction by his strength and valor. I-t was 
through the senses, and especially through the eye, that 
the feudal imagination was moved. Every heart was 
kindled at the sight of shining armor, horses with brill- 
iant trappings, gorgeous dress, and martial show. The 
magnificent Norman cathedrals struck the mind with de- 
votional awe ; the donjons and towers of the great 
baronial castles were suggestive of power and glory. To 
the impressibility of the senses was added the romantic 
spirit of adventure, which kept the knighthood of Europe 
in a constant ferment, and for lack of war, burst forth in 
tournaments, in private feuds, or in the extravagances of 
knight-errantry. The feudal system, growing up to meet 
the necessities of conquerors living on conquered territory, 
and founded on the principle of military service as a con- 
dition of land tenure, made of Europe a vast army. The 
military profession was exalted to an importance which 
crushed all effort of a more useful or progressive nature; 
the military class, including all who possessed land and 



4 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

did not labor upon it, became an aristocracy despising 
peaceful occupations, whose most powerful prejudice was 
pride of birth, whose ruling passion was love of war. 
Under the influence of this military spirit, intellectual 
was subordinated to active life ; a condition of ignorance 
and danger was sustained ; an overwhelming reverence 
for the supernatural was produced, and there resulted 
that predominance of the imagination over the reason of 
man which forms the distinctive feature of Romantic Fic- 
tion. 

While the feudal system formed the framework of 
society, and, as much by inspiration as by law, governed 
the outward actions of men, the human mind was in com- 
plete, and almost universally willing, subjection to theo- 
logical influence. The state of war, or of readiness for 
war, which was the inevitable accompaniment of feudal 
tenure, did much to sustain the state of profound igno- 
rance and consequent superstition in which the people of 
mediaeval times were plunged, both by preventing the 
pursuit of peaceful occupations and the growth of knowl- 
edge, and by increasing the element of danger in life, 
which always inclines the human mind to a belief in the 
supernatural. The same results were brought about by 
the character and aims of the Roman Church. The 
unswerving purpose of that church was to govern, tem- 
porally as well as spiritually. She sought to supply to 
men from her own store all the knowledge which was 
necessary for their welfare, and that knowledge was lim- 
ited to dogmas and beliefs which would strengthen the 
power of the priesthood. A strict and absolute accept- 
ance of the truths of Christianity as she defined them, 
and a humble obedience to the clergy were made the 
sole and necessary conditions of salvation. A question- 



INFLUENCE OF THE ROMAN CHURCH. $ 

ing of those truths or a violation of that obedience was 
a crime before which murder and license faded into 
insignificance. The spirit of doubt and of inquiry whicli 
alone leads to knowledge, and through knowledge to 
civilization, was repressed by excommunication or in 
blood. As long as men continued in a state of helpless 
ignorance and willing credulity, the church was a fitting, 
even a beneficent, mistress and guide. For centuries she 
was the sole teacher and the sole external source of 
moral elevation. For centuries she alone pointed out 
the distinction between right and wrong, the beauty of 
virtue, and the ugliness of sin. Whatever there was in 
life to raise men above their earthly struggles, their evil 
passions, and the despair of a hard and dangerous exist- 
ence, was supplied by her. The consolations of religion, 
the ennobling acquaintance with the character of Christ, 
and the hope of salvation through Him were incalculable 
blessings. Her aid in suppressing disorder and in estab- 
lishing a respect for law and government is not to be 
overlooked. She presented in her own organization an 
example of authority, of system, and of obedience, which, 
despite many failings and abuses, was of great value to 
the world. But there is in human nature an irrepressible 
tendency toward growth and progress, and when this 
tendency began to show itself in the Middle Ages, it 
found in the theological spirit, then personated by the 
Roman Church, its most bitter and most powerful enemy. 
The church, which had hitherto been a teacher and guide, 
became the champion of barbarism and the genius of 
retrogression. Instead of adapting herself to t!ie grow- 
ing wants of mankind, instead of preserving her influence 
and power by inward progress proportionate to that 
which she saw advancing without, she sought, stationary 



O HISTOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

herself, to keep the world stationary, and to stamp out in 
blood the progressive spirit of man. Hence it is that the 
blessings of our modern life have been achieved in spite 
of the Roman Church, which should have promoted 
them, and the history of modern civilization and modern 
knowledge is in so large a part the history of emancipa- 
tion from the tyranny of the theological spirit, — that is, 
the clerical opposition to mental and material advance- 
ment, both of which are as necessary to moral ad- 
vancement as they are to the happiness of men. This 
spirit has been the same in every country and in every 
age, when the spiritual has exceeded the secular power, 
and its lamentable effects may be traced as well in the 
gloomy Protestant theocracy of Scotland as in the Catho- 
lic Inquisition of Spain. During the period, however, 
when the romances of chivalry were principally written 
and enjoyed, the convulsions arising from attempts to 
burst the bonds by which the minds of men were re- 
strained, had not yet been sensibly felt. The church was 
still the controlling intellectual influence. A dark cloud 
of ignorance and superstition hung over Europe, to be 
dispelled at last by the new growth of learning, and the 
consequences following upon it. The best intelligence of 
the time was confined to the clergy, who used it skilfully 
to maintain their authority. By every device they 
sought to usurp to themselves the sole power of min- 
istering to popular wants. Nothing which could strike 
the mind through the senses was neglected. They off- 
set tournaments by religious shows and pageantry, rivalled 
the attractions of the harp by sacred music, and to wean 
their flocks from the half-dram.atic entertainments of the 
minstrels, they invented the Miracle Play and the Mys- 
tery. The church forced herself on the attention of 



CHARACTER OF THE MIDDLE AGES. J 

every man without doors or within, by the friars black or 
gray who met him at every turn, by the imposing mon- 
asteries which formed a central figure in every landscape, 
and by the festivals and processions of priests which 
made the common occasions for the assemblage of the 
people. The constant recurrence of holy days and fasts 
called the mind to the consideration of spiritual things, 
and the rough superstition of the time was deeply ex- 
cited when the approach of death in a household brought 
the priestly train with lighted tapers, and the awe-inspiring 
ceremonies with which the lingering soul was sent on 
its way. 

The military nature of feudalism explains the predomi- 
nance of warlike incidents in romantic fiction, and the 
character of the Roman Church gives us an insight into 
the causes which, in addition to the ignorance of the 
time, induced men to refer all remarkable events to su- 
pernatural influence, and prepared their minds for the 
unquestioning belief in the fictions which are so impor- 
tant a characteristic of the romances of chivalry. The 
low standard of morality also, which is reflected in the 
same pages, is due quite as much to the predominance of 
the dogmatic over the moral element of Christianity, as 
to the unrefined and rude conditions of life. 

There is much that is picturesque and brilliant in the 
times, but much more that is terrible. The nobles and 
knights, who lived sword in hand behind their battle- 
ments and massive walls, were the rulers of the country. 
Their ungoverned passions and their love of fighting 
for its own sake or for that of revenge, were perpetual 
dangers to internal peace. There was no power sufifi- 
cient to keep them in check. The lawlessness and anar- 
chy caused by the ceaseless quarrels between ba/on and 



O HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

baron, found but a feeble remedy in the laws of 
King or Church. Of the darkness of the earlier Middle 
Ages Von SybeP gives a graphic picture : " Monarchies 
sank into impotence ; petty lawless tyrants trampled all 
social order under foot, and all attempts after scientific 
instruction and artistic pleasures were as effectually 
crushed by this state of general insecurity as the exter- 
nal well-being and material life of the people. This was 
a dark and stormy period for Europe, merciless, arbitrary, 
and violent. It was a sign of the prevailing feeling of 
misery and hopelessness that, when the first thousand 
years of our era were drawing to their close, the people 
in every country in Europe looked with certainty for 
the destruction of the world. Some squandered their 
M'ealth in riotous living, others bestowed it, for the good 
of their souls, on churches and convents ; weeping mul- 
titudes lay day and night about the altars ; some looked 
forward with dread, but most with secret hope, toward 
the burning of the earth and the falling in of heaven." 
Gradually some order and security succeeded this chaos. 
The church exerted all her strength in subduing violence, 
and the character of her remedies are illustrative of the 
evils they were intended to abate. The truce of God set 
apart the days between Thursday and Monday of each 
week as a time of peace, when private quarrels should be 
suspended. The peace of the king forbade the avenging 
of an alleged injury until forty days after its commission. 
The Council of Clermont ordered that every noble youth 
on attaining the age of twelve years should take an oath 
to defend the oppressed, the widows, and the orphans.* 
Much superfluous energy was exhausted in the crusades. 

' "Hist, of Crusades," p. ii; Sir E. Strachey, Inlrod. to " Morle d* 
Arthur." 

'^ Mill's "Chivalry." 



RISE OF THE SPIRIT OF CHIVALRY. 9 

In England the growth of the universities and the study 
and development of law aided the establishment of social 
order, while the spread of commerce and the improve- 
ments in husbandry brought with wealth some refinement 
and luxury. The baronage wrested from the crown 
those liberties which finally became the common property 
of all. Trade pushed the inhabitants of the towns into 
prominence as an important class whose influence was 
thrown entirely into the scale of peace and quiet, on 
which its prosperity depended. No element of change 
was more essential, and none was greater in its civilizing 
effects than the development of the chivalric spirit into 
an institution of which the laws and customs were ob- 
served from England to Sicily. Its influence worked di- 
rectly upon the disturbing classes of society. Only time 
and the slow march of civilization could calm the restless- 
ness and the martial spirit of the powerful, but chivalry 
introduced into warfare knightly honor and generosity, 
and into social life a courtesy and gallantry which formed 
a strong ally to religion in bringing out the better senti- 
ments of humanity. At a time when force was greater 
than law, when the weak and defenceless were at the 
mercy of the powerful, when women wxre never safe from 
the attacks of the brutal, a body of men who were sworn 
to redress wrongs, to succor the oppressed, and to protect 
women and children, could not fail to be highly beneficial 
and to win the reverence of mankind. To be a good 
knight was to be the salt of the earth. The church gave 
easy absolution to the champion of the weak, — the sol- 
dier of God. Women smiled upon the cavalier whose pro- 
fession was her service, and whose deeds, as well as the 
glitter of his arms and the fascination of his martial ap- 
pearance, flattered her pride and gratified her imagination. 



lO HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Yet, in considering the period of chivalry, we must not 
yield too much to the attraction of its brilliant show, its 
high-flown sentiments, and knightly valor. Beneath re- 
ligion there ever lurked a bigoted superstition ; beneath 
valor, cruelty ; beneath love, mere brutal passion. The 
sympathies of the order were much confined to the 
higher classes, and there was little feeling for the suffer- 
ings of the common people. The reign of Edward the 
Third embraces the most brilliant days of chivalry. 
About that period is spread a mist of manly gallantry 
and feminine charms which conceals the darkness beneath. 
The Black Prince, after winning his spurs at Cressy, car- 
ried fire and sword among the peaceful and defenceless 
inhabitants of Garonne, gratifying a greed of gain by 
blood and rapine. The gallant deeds of Sir Walter de 
Manny, of Sir John Chandos, the fame of Edward him- 
self, only make darker by contrast the desolation and suf- 
fering by which their glory was purchased. The poetic 
illusion inspired by Froissart's chronicles of knightly 
deeds and manners is rudely torn when we read Petrarch's 
description of France after the battle of Poitiers : " I 
could not believe that this was the same France which I 
had seen so rich and flourishing. Nothing presented it- 
self to my eyes but a fearful solitude, land uncultivated, 
houses in ruins. Even the neighborhood of Paris showed 
everywhere the marks of desolation and conflagration. 
The streets are deserted, the roads overgrown with weeds, 
the whole is a vast solitude." ' 

It is among the Northern conquerors that we must look 
for the origin of the spirit of chivalry, which consisted 
first and chiefly in manly valor exerted to obtain the 
favor of woman. Of this there is no trace in any ancient 

^ Quoted in Green's "Short History of the English People," p. 224. 



THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY. II 

civilization. Among the barbarous tribes of the North, 
physical strength and military prowess were the qualities 
most essential in a man, and woman naturally looked 
upon them as the merit she most loved, especially as they 
were needed for her own protection. But this condition is 
natural to all barbarous and warlike peoples, and cannot 
by itself account for that sentiment which we call chival- 
ric. To the valor of the Goths were joined an extraordin- 
ary reverence and respect for their women, due, as these 
feelings always must be, to feminine chastity. The virt- 
ue for which the Northern women were distinguished 
elevated them to a position to which the females of 
other uncivilized nations never approached. It gave 
them a large influence in both public and private affairs, 
and made them something to be won, not bought. To 
obtain his wife the Northern warrior must have deserved 
her, he must have given proofs that he was worthy of the 
woman who had preserved her chastity inviolate, and for 
whom love must be mingled with respect.' It is curious 
to observe how exactly these sentiments, which existed 
at so early a period among the Gothic nations, were con- 
tinued into feudal times. Take, as one instance, the ex- 
clamation of Regner Lodbrog, the famous Scandinavian 
chieftain, who about the year 860 rescued a princess from 
a fortress in which she was unjustly confined, and received 
her hand as his reward : " I made to struggle in the twi- 
light that yellow-haired chief, who passed his mornings 
among the young maidens and loved to converse with 
widows. He who aspires to the love of young virgins 
ought always to be foremost in the din of arms!"* 
Compare to this a scene at Calais about the middle of the 

' Warton's " Hist, of En|;lish Poetry," Dissert, i. 
* Quoted by Warton, " Hist, of Poetry," Dis. i. 



1 2 HISTOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

fourteenth century. Edward III had just accomplished 
an adventure of chivalry. Serving under the banner of 
Sir Walter de Manny as a common knight, he had over- 
come in single combat the redoubted Sir Eustace de 
Ribeaumont, who had brought the king twice on his 
knees during the course of the battle. Edward that even- 
ing entertained all his French prisoners as well as his 
own knights at supper, and at the conclusion of the feast 
he adjudged the prize of valor for that day's fighting to 
Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont, and removing a chaplet of 
pearls from his own head, he placed it on that of the 
French knight, with the significant words ' : " Sir Eustace, 
I present you with this chaplet as being the best com- 
batant this day, either within or without doors ; and I 
beg of you to wear it this year for love of me. I know 
that you are lively and amorous, and love the company 
of ladies and damsels ; therefore say wherever you go 
that I gave it to you." But the chivalry of the Goths 
was only the seed of the plant which flourished so luxuri- 
antly under better conditions in later times. The feu- 
dal system fostered the growth of the sentiment into the 
institution, as a palliative to anarchy and as an ornament 
to life, while the Church, always eager to absorb enthusi- 
asm and power into her own ranks, adopted the insti- 
tution as the Holy Order, and adding religious devotion 
to the inspiration of love, directed the energies of chivalry 
into the work of civilization, and made the knight the 
champion of the weak, in addition to his character as a 
valiant soldier. 

It is difficult in considering a period so remote and so 
peculiar as that of chivalry, to fix the limit between the 
actual and the imaginary, between the character of the 
' Froissart's "Chronicles," v. ii, p. 248, Johnes' Trans. 



THE SOCIAL POSITION OF WOMEN. 1 3 

ideals which men placed before themselves, and the ex- 
tent to which these ideals were realized. That the writ- 
ings of the romancers were exaggerations of actual man- 
ners rather than inventions, is shown by the descriptions 
of the habits and inmates of mediaeval castles, which 
form so interesting a portion of Froissart's chronicles, 
and give such striking and life-like illustrations of the 
society which at once inspired and enjoyed the romances 
of chivalry. The castle of the Earl of Foix and the Earl 
himself would have seemed quite natural in the pages of 
a romance : " Ther was none more rejoysed in dedes of 
armes than the erle dyde : ther was sene in his hall, 
chambre, and court, knightes and squyers of honour going 
up and downe, and talking of armes and amours; all 
honour ther was found, all maner of tidyngs of every 
realme and countre ther might be herde, for out of every 
countree ther was resort, for the valyantness of this erle." 
Of "armes and amours " the knights and ladies loved to 
talk, and arms and amours formed the burden of the 
ponderous tomes which the Earl of Foix caused to be 
read before him. The adventures of knights-errant, and 
their obligation to render aid and comfort to " all dis- 
tressed ladies and damsels," have a charming illustration 
in the championship of the cause of Isabel, Queen of Ed- 
ward the Second of England, by Sir John of Hainault, 
and the words used by the latter in undertaking the en- 
terprise were the echo of the chivalric feeling of the time. 
As soon as the arrival of Queen Isabel in Hainault 
was known, " this Sir John, being at that time very young 
and panting for glory, like a knight-errant mounted his 
horse, and, accompanied by a few persons, set out from 
Valenciennes for Ambreticourt, where he arrived in the 
evening and paid the Queen every respect and honour." 



14 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Notwithstanding the remonstrances and objections which 
were raised against his undertaking so perilous an advent- 
ure as the invasion of England, " the gallant knight 
would not change his purpose, saying, ' that he could die 
but once ; that the time was in the will of God ; and that 
all true knights were bound to aid, to the utmost of their 
power, all ladies and damsels driven from their kingdoms 
comfortless and forlorn.' " To suppose that the romances 
formed an accurate reflection of actual life would show an 
entire ignorance of their nature ; but there can be no 
doubt that these fictions were the natural outcome of ex- 
isting thought and manners ; that they were sufficiently 
life-like to interest ; and that they increased and intensi- 
fied the habits and ideas in which they had their origin. 

The combination of qualities and motives which we 
are accustomed to express in the general term of chiv- 
alry was the mediaeval ideal of virtue, and as such was in 
practice inevitably subject to imperfection and inconsist- 
ency. The Roman virtus was simply courage. Chivalry 
meant courage and. skill in arms, united to gentle birth, 
to courtesy, to gallantry, and to a faithful observance of 
the laws of combat ; the whole inspired by military glory, 
religious enthusiasm, or devotion to women. We should 
admire the greatness and nobility of this'ideal, standing 
out as it does against a background of lawlessness and 
ignorance, rather than complain that in practice its valor 
often degenerated into ferocity, its Christianity into nar- 
row bigotry, its worship of woman into license and bru- 
tality. Chivalry, supplying a standard of excellence 
adapted by its nature to excite the admiration of men, 
did much to refine and civilize the rude age in which it 
arose ; and this result is not belittled by the factsthat that 
standard was pitched above the possibility of human at- 



THEORY AND PRACTICE OF CHIVALRY. 1 5 

tainment. Chivalry was the spontaneous expression of 
what was best in the time, and gave sentiment and charm 
to lives otherwise hard and barren. Its very exaggera- 
tions and grotesqueness illustrate the eagerness with 
which it was received, and the greatness of the want 
which it supplied. This was an ideal, too, separate and 
distinct from any that had been known before, possess- 
ing enduring characteristics of greatness and beauty 
which have never ceased to command sympathy and ad- 
miration. Though changed in outward form, and ap- 
pearing under different manifestations, the chivalry of the 
Middle Ages is essentially the chivalry of to-day, but it 
now exerts a moral and intellectual, instead of a physical 
force. 

The new dignity which woman assumed in connection 
with the growth of chivalry was owing considerably to a 
cause separate from the Northern sentiment concerning 
them, and as the position of women is an important part 
of the social condition we are now examining, a glance 
at this other cause will not be without value or interest. 
It is indeed remarkable that in the Middle Ages woman 
should for the first time have attained her true rank, and 
that the highest conception of the female character which 
the world had yet known should have been developed in 
so rude and ferocious a time. The estimation in which 
women were held among Eastern nations was little lower 
than their position among the Jews. Where polygamy ex- 
ists, and where purchase-money is paid to the father of 
the bride, women never attain to high appreciation or 
respect. Beauty rather than virtue was the ideal of 
Greece. The women of that country, living in continual 
seclusion, deprived alike of opportunities for attaining 
culture or exerting influence, became narrowed in thought 



l6 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

and intelligence, and passed their lives in obscurity un- 
der the control of their husbands or sons.' Roman his- 
tory gives us examples of female excellence and distinc- 
tion, and represents women during some periods in a 
better position than had previously been known. But the 
female sex was never accorded among the Romans the 
general respect for its peculiar virtues, and the considera- 
tion for its weakness which forms one of the brightest 
pages of modern civilization. With the spread of Chris- 
tianity, there was for centuries no improvement. The 
low standard by which the Jews had judged the sex exerted 
a strong and an evil influence. The spirit of asceticism, 
rapidly gaining ground in the Roman Church, pointed 
out absolute chastity in both sexes as the only praise- 
worthy condition of life, made marriage only an excusa- 
ble sin, and recognizee! in that relationship, merely its 
use for the propagation of the species. Views so absurd 
and unnatural could not fail in producing the most evil 
results. Woman came to be regarded by the church as 
the origin of all sin, the favorite medium of the tempta- 
tions of the Devil, the sanctity and happiness of marriage 
were interfered with, and the priesthood, debarred from 
that condition, showed themselves not insensible to the 
charms they so fiercely denounced, and presented to their 
flocks demoralizing examples of profligacy. The North- 
ern invaders brought with them their own ideas concern- 
ing v/omen, rough and crude, but containing the germ of 
much good. Being met by Christianity, they embraced 
it in large numbers, unreflectingly, at the command of 
their leaders. But in embracing it they changed it to 
suit themselves. Their minds were unfit for the recep- 
tion of the dogmas of the church, or for the realization 

' Lecky's " History of Morals," chap. 5, vol. 2. 



FEUDAL EDUCATION. 1 7 

and worship of an invisible being. They seized on the 
ideas of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the Saints, and wor- 
shipped in a great degree their old gods under the new 
names. But of the new objects of worship, Mary most 
struck their imaginations and won their affection. The 
meek and forgiving Christ was unsuited to their fierce 
and warlike dispositions. But Mary, the beautiful, the' 
tender, the merciful mother of God became the object of 
an enthusiastic adoration, and with the worship of Mary 
the position of the whole sex was elevated. The brutish 
and unnatural teachings of the Fathers were overridden 
by the new and noble ideas which were springing up. 
Doctrines such as that of the Immaculate Conception 
rapidly won ground, and Catholic Mariolatry, taking root 
in the fertile soil of Northern chivalry, worked benefits 
which have lasted down to our own time, and conferred 
great blessings upon it. 

The purely military character of feudalism impressed 
itself on the habits of the time, and moulded. domestic 
life, amusements and education in strict accordance with 
it. The castles of the great lords and knights were 
" academies of honour " for the children of their depend- 
ents and less wealthy neighbors; the court-yards became 
the scene of martial exercises, and the presence of noble 
women within the walls afforded an opportunity for the 
cultivation of gentle manners, and for the growth of that 
feeling of reverence for the fair sex which was to form so 
important an element in the boys' later life. The " gen- 
tle damoiseau," confided at the age of seven or eight to 
the care of a knight whose reputation for prowess and 
courtesy ensured a good example, learned modesty and 
obedience in the performance of menial services, then 
considered honorable ; in the court-yard of the castle he 



1 8 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

was instructed in horsemanship, and in the use of the lance, 
the bow, and the sword. In the dangers and hardships 
of the chase — the principal occupation in time of peace, — 
he was inured to fatigue, hunger, and pain ; he learned to 
sound the horn at the different stages of the hunt, to 
dress the game when killed, and to carve it on the table.' 
He waited upon the ladies in their apartments as upon 
superior beings, whose service, even the most menial, 
was an honor. While yet a damoiseau, and before he 
had attained the rank of squire, the youth was expected 
to choose one girl who should receive his special admira- 
tion and service, in whose name his future knightly 
deeds should be performed, who should be his inspiration 
in battle, the reward of his valor, and the object of his 
gallantry. In the loves of Amadis and Oriana, so fa- 
mous in romance, we have a simple and charming descrip- 
tion of the first budding of the chivalric sentiment. 
" Oriana was about ten years old, the fairest creature that 
ever was seen ; wherefore she was called the one 'without 
a peer.' * * * The Child of the Sea (Amadis) was 
now twelve years old, but in stature and size he seemed 
fifteen, and he served the queen ; but now that Oriana 
was there, the queen gave her the Child of the Sea, that 
he should serve her, and Oriana said that ' it pleased 
her ' ; and that word which she said the child kept in his 
heart, so that he never lost it from his memory, and in 
all his life he was never weary of serving her, and his 
heart was surrendered to her ; and this love lasted as 
long as they lasted, for as well as he loved her did she 
also love him. But the Child of the Sea, who knew noth- 
ing of her love, thought himself presumptuous to have 
placed his thoughts on her, and dared not speak to her ; 
* Scott's " Essay on Chivalry." 



DOMESTIC LIFE. 1 9 

and she, who loved him in her heart, was careful not to 
speak more with him than with another ; but their eyes 
delighted to reveal to the heart what was the thing on 
earth that they loved best. And now the time came 
that he thought he could take arms if he were knighted ; 
and this he greatly desired, thinking that he would do 
such things that, if he lived, his mistress should esteem, 
im. 

Life in a Norman castle was at best hard and comfort- 
less. In summer it was enlivened by hunting and hawk- 
ing, by tournaments and pageantry. The gardens which 
usually surrounded a castle formed a resource for the 
female portion of the inhabitants, who are often repre- 
sented in the illuminations of the time as occupied in 
tending the flowers or in making garlands. But in win- 
ter there were few comforts to lessen the suffering, and 
few resources to vary the monotony of life. The pas- 
sages in the romances which hail the return of spring, 
are full of thankfulness and delight. Chess, dice, and 
cards, as well as many frolicsome games, served, with the 
aid of the minstrels, to afford amusement. The women 
had their occupations of spinning, sewing, and embroid- 
ery, while some of the accomplishments they cultivated 
may be inferred from the following passage in the folio 
of old Sir Joshua Barnes: "And now the ladies them- 
selves, with many noble virgins, were meditating the vari- 
ous measures their skilful feet were to make, the pleas- 
ant aires their sweet voices should warble, and those soft 
divisions their tender fingers should strike on the yield- 
ing strings." ^ Life was lacking in physical comforts, and 

' " Amadis of Gaul," Southey's ed.,vol. i, p. 40. This romance belongs 
to a late period of romantic fiction, but the passage cited is a good illustra- 
tion of mediaeval sentiment. 

' Sir J. Barnes' " History of Edward III." 



20 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

still more in refinement. The dining-hall became at 
night the sleeping place of a promiscuous crowd of re- 
tainers. There was a very imperfect separation of the 
sexes at any time. Men and women ate with their fin- 
gers, and threw the refuse of their meal on the table, or 
amidst the straw on the floor, to be devoured by the cats 
and dogs which swarmed about. Read the directions for 
ladies' table manners given by Robert de Blois : " If you 
eat with another {i. e., in the same plate), turn the nicest 
bits to him, and do not go picking out the finest and 
largest for yourself, which is not courteous. Moreover, 
no one should eat greedily a choice bit which is too large 
or too hot, for fear of choking or burning herself. * * 
* Each time you drink wipe your mouth well, that no 
grease may go into the wine, which is very unpleasant to 
the person who drinks after you. But when you wipe 
your mouth for drinking, do not wipe your eyes or nose 
with the table-cloth, and avoid spilling from your mouth 
or greasing your hands too much." ' The same authority 
on manners and etiquette warns ladies against scolding 
and disputing, against swearing and getting drunk, and 
against some other objectionable actions which betray a 
great lack of feminine modesty. The " Moral Instruc- 
tions " of the Chevalier de la Tour Landry present a pict- 
ure of coarseness and immorality among both men and 
women, which shows how incompatible was the barrack- 
like existence of feudal times with the practice of any 
sort of self-restraint or purity of life. 

Of such a character, then, was the audience which the 
mediaeval romancers had to please. A class essentially 
military, ferocious, and accustomed to shedding blood, 
yet preserving in their violence a certain observance of 

' Wright's " Manners and Sentiments in the Middle Ages," p. 276. 



JilSE OF ROMANTIC FICTION. 21 

laws of honor and courtesy ; setting before themselves 
more often an ideal of glory and nobility, than an object 
of plunder or conquest ; cultivating a consideration and 
gallantry toward women, remarkable in view of the neces- 
sarily rough and unrefined circumstances of their life ; 
highly imaginative and adventurous ; rejoicing in brill- 
iancy of dress and show ; filling the monotony of peace 
by tournaments, martial games, and the entertainments 
of the minstrels. 

II. 

The romances of chivalry sprang to life a logical pro- 
duction of the times. Their authors seized on the char- 
acter of a king and a warrior — their highest conception of 
greatness, — in the persons of Charlemagne and Arthur. 
Regardless of anachronism, they represented their heroes 
as the centre of a chivalric court, accoutred in the arms, 
and practising the customs, of later centuries ; they 
created in fact a new Arthur and a new Charlemagne, 
adapted to the new times. They brought to light the 
almost forgotten characters of antiquity. They repre- 
sented Jason and Alexander invested with chivalric at- 
tributes and affected by mediaeval superstitions. Her- 
cules, according to them, performed his labors, not 
because of the wrath of Juno or the command of Jove, 
but, like a true knight-errant, to gain the favor of a 
Boeotian princess. Virgil the poet was transformed into 
Virgil the enchanter. The chief heroes were surrounded 
with restless knights, whose romantic adventures afforded 
unlimited range to the imagination, and delighted the 
chivalric mind. The romancers mingled with their end- 
less tales of "arms and amours," the superstitions and 
myths which occupied the minds of men to the exclu- 



22 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

sion of all real knowledge and inquiry. The gloomy and 
terrible fictions which had adorned the songs of Northern 
scalds, the bright and fanciful imagery contained in the 
tales of Arabia and the East which the crusaders brought 
back with them into Europe, the superstitions of Chris- 
tianity itself, were given only a greater influence in the 
lives of fictitious heroes than they were supposed to have 
in those of living men. Perfectly suited to the times, and 
in fact born of them, the romances took at once a pow- 
erful hold on the popular imagination. The characters 
of Arthur, of Launcelot and of Tristram became the ob- 
jects of an ardent admiration, and the standards of excel- 
lence to which many strove to attain. The most exag- 
gerated ideas of chivalry contained in the romances were 
adopted in actual life. Knights and ladies took upon 
themselves adventures and cultivated manners, which 
vied in extravagance with those of imaginary beings. 
The personality of King Arthur was so intensely real- 
ized, that for centuries it was believed that he would one 
day return from beyond the grave to resume his glorious 
rule. On his tomb were supposed to be inscribed the 
words : 

Hie jacet Arthurus rex, quondam rexque futurus. 

Henry II visited his legendary grave at Glastonbury, 
and named his grandson Arthur. Edward I held a 
Round Table at Kenilworth. Remarkable features of 
nature— rocks, caves, and mounds — were associated in 
the popular mind with the achievements of Arthur, and 
many are connected with them by name at the present 
day. 

But the romances relating to Arthur were far more 
than the reflection of passing thoughts and customs des- 



CHARACTER OF ROMANTIC FICTION. 23 

lined to perish with the generations who read them. 
They embodied the ideals of the English race six centu- 
ries ago, and although appearing in a different form, those 
ideals are still our own. The examples presented in 
romantic fiction of manly courage, of self-sacrificing de- 
votion, of simplicity of character, and of chivalric con- 
sideration for the weakness of the female sex, may excite 
our admiration and sympathy, as well as that of a fierce 
and untutored knighthood. These tales were the product 
of the English mind in its boyhood, and it is to the 
youth of our day that they are best adapted and most 
attractive ; but the rationalism of the nineteenth century 
may find in their spirit of simple faith, of unquestioning 
belief and trust, much that is beautiful in human life 
which modern thought and science have swept away. It 
is on account of the enduring character of the ideals, of 
which the Arthurian legends were the spontaneous ex- 
pression, that these works, although contained in a rude 
form, without artistic plan or literary merit to give them 
permanence, have never wholly passed from the acquaint- 
ance of men. The rude force and beauty of mediaeval 
fiction has been deeply felt by many of the greatest 
minds which have contributed to modern literature. To 
the perusal of the story of Launcelot and Guenever Dante 
ascribes the coming of Paolo and Francesca al dolorosa 
passo. While the other works of Ariosto have fallen into 
obscurity, his "Orlando Furioso " has achieved a lasting 
fame. One of the greatest poems in the German lan- 
guage, the " Oberon " of Wieland, is almost a repro- 
duction of a chivalric romance. The reader of Milton 
IS, often reminded of 

Uther's son, 
Begirt with British and Armoric knights 



24 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Spenser transferred romantic fiction into the region of 
allegory, and gave to English literature the immortal 
** Faery Queen." In our own day the " Idyls " of Ten- 
nyson have made the legends of Arthur a part of our 
common thought, and the Knights of the Round Table 
familiar in almost every household. The romances of 
chivalry fall naturally into three general classes: those 
relating to Charlemagne and his peers ; those relating to 
classical and mythological heroes ; and, finally, the tales 
connected with King Arthur. The strong similarity 
which exists in the character and incidents of these three 
classes makes an acquaintance with one of them sufficient 
for the purpose of this work. The " Morte d' Arthur " 
and the romances of which it forms a compendium will 
therefore be chiefly considered, as being the most inter- 
esting in their bearing on English fiction. 

In the early part of the twelfth century, Walter 
Mapes, Archdeacon of Oxford, while travelling in France, 
became possessed of a book written in the British or 
Armoric language, which treated of the history of kings 
of Britain, and was undoubtedly even at that time of 
considerable antiquity. Little is known concerning this 
curious work. It related the fabulous martial deeds of 
British kings, of whose existence there is no previous 
record, their victories over giants and dragons, and the 
various supernatural influences to which they were sub- 
ject. Hence comes the story of King Lear and of Jack 
the Giant-Killer, and here are first met the characters of 
King Arthur and the enchanter Merlin. This book hav- 
ing been translated into Latin by Geoffrey of Monmouth, 
a Benedictine monk, at once attained a great popularity 
and reputation ; and for several centuries-was universally 
accepted as true history. A number of metrical romances 



THE ''MORTE D' ARTHUR." 2$ 

soon appeared to gratify the taste which Geoffrey's 
chronicle had excited, and in the first half of the thir- 
teenth century the same stories began to be written in 
prose. From this time until the middle of the fifteenth 
century most of what we now call romantic fiction was 
produced, although many imitations and translations 
appeared in England for more than a century afterward. 
The exact dates of the different romances and the names 
of their authors cannot be positively established, as the 
early copies were undated, and the names prefixed to 
them are believed to be fictitious. During this period 
were given to the world, among many others, the 
romances of Merlin the Enchanter, of Launcelot du Lac, 
of Meliadus, of his son Tristram, of Gyron le Courtoys, 
of Perceval le Gallois, and, finally, that of the Saint 
Greal, in which the whole body of knights-errant are 
represented, probably by some monkish writer, in the 
search for the Holy Cup which had held the blood of 
ChristV At last Sir Thomas Malory, a London knight, 
well read in chivalric literature, combined these tales m 
the volume he called the " Morte d' Arthur," an excellent 
specimen of a chivalric romance, which was printed by 
Caxton in 1485, and has since appeared in many editions 
down to the present day. 

The influence of the supernatural appears in the very 
beginning of the " Morte d' Arthur," and throughout we 
trace its controlling effect upon the incidents of the 
story. It is by the help of Merlin's magic that King 
Uther Pendragon slays the Duke of Cornwall, and as- 
suming the likeness of his rival, obtains possession of his 
wife Igraine, " a faire ladye, and a passing wyse," from 
which union Arthur is born. On the death of Uther, 
when the chief nobles and knicrhts are summoned to 



26 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

London by the Archbishop of Canterbury to choose a 
new king, it is Merlin's art which discovers to them a 
sword imbedded in a great rock in the churchyard of St. 
Paul's bearing the inscription : " Whoso pulleth this sword 
out of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all 
England"; and it is by the same supernatural aid that the 
stripling Arthur, whose birth is unknown, fulfils the task 
which all had essayed in vain. By the friendly influence 
of Merlin, Arthur receives his famous sword Excalibur 
from the hands of the Lady of the Lake, with the scab- 
bard whose wearer can lose no blood ; he defeats with 
great slaughter the hosts of the eleven kings who dispute 
hisrthrone ; and obtains in marriage the celebrated Guen- 
ever, who brings him in dowry the Table Round. But 
Merlin, who could do so much for others, had the power 
only to foresee, and not to avert, his own impending fate. 
Enamoured of a fickle damsel, who soon tires of his love, 
the great enchanter discloses his secrets to her, and with 
a sad farewell and final advice to Arthur, he suffers him- 
self to be imprisoned forever in the rock which his own 
magic had wrought, by the spell which he had intrusted 
to his treacherous mistress. The friendly arts of Merlin 
are succeeded by the machinations of the malicious fairy 
Morgana, and the watchful care of the Lady of the 
Lake. To excite the childlike wonder of his readers, 
the romancer turns knights to stone, or makes them 
invisible ; he introduces enchanted castles, vessels that 
steer themselves, and the miraculous properties of the 
^aint Greal. Arthur and Tristram fight with dragons 
and giants. The loves of Tristram and Isoud arise from 
the drinking of an amorous potion. The chastity of 
knight and damsel is determined by the magic horn, 
whose liquor the innocent drink, but the guilty spill ; and 



THE SUPERNATURAL IN ROMANCE. 27 

by the enchanted garland, which blooms on the brow of 
the chaste, but withers on that of the faithless. Inven- 
tions such as these were regarded as facts, or at least as 
possible occurrences, by the readers of romantic fiction. 
Men believed what they were told, and to doubt, to 
inquire were intellectual efforts which they knew not 
how to make, and which all the influences of their life 
opposed their making. There were no fictions in the 
romances more improbable than the accounts of foreign 
parts*brought back by travellers. Sir John of Mandeville 
was not doubted when he wrote that he had met with a 
race of men who had only one eye, and that in the middle 
of the forehead, or a people with only one foot and that 
one large enough to be used as a parasol. The knight 
who had mastered the art of reading looked upon such 
stories as curious facts. His religion was a religion of 
miracles, and, ignorant of natural laws, he was accus- 
tomed to refer any unusual occurrence to the influence 
of supernatural beings, — a habit of thought which pre- 
sented an ever-ready solution to mysteries and problems 
otherwise inexplicable. 

The entire credence accorded to the supernatural feat- 
ures of the romance gave to it a power and an interest 
which has now, of course, disappeared ; but the influence 
of the supernatural upon the work is so strong, that even 
the modern reader, wandering with Launcelot and Tris- 
tram in a world of wonders, meets a giant without sur- 
prise, and feels at home in an enchanted castle. 

When Arthur is finally established on his throne, 
the knights of the Round Table begin their wonder- 
ful career of adventure and gallantry. With them the 
reader roams over a vague and unreal land called 
Britain or Cornwall, in full armor, the ever-ready lance in 



28 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

rest. At almost every turn a knight is met who offers 
combat, and each detail of the conflict — the rush of the 
horses, the breaking of lances, the final hand-to-hand with 
swords — is described with a minuteness which only the 
military enthusiasm of the Middle Ages could thoroughly 
appreciate. Sometimes our hero meets a damsel who 
tells a tale of wrong, and leads the knight to champion 
her cause ; again, he encounters some old companion in 
arms, breaks a lance upon him by way of friendly salu- 
tation, and wanders with him in search of adventures, 
inquiring of a chance peasant or dwarf, of a wrong to be 
avenged, or a danger to be incurred. The reader attends 
tournaments, of which every blow and every fall are chron- 
icled. He becomes familiar with the respective merits 
and prowess of a hundred different champions. He 
learns the laws of judicial combat, and the intricate rules 
of the chivalric code. With imagination aroused and 
sympathies excited he enters a life of alternate combat 
and love, almost real in the consistency of its improbabil- 
ity. Three gallant knights. Sir Gawaine, Sir Marhaus, 
and Sir Uwaine set out together in search of adventures. 

At the last they cam in to a grete forest that was named the 
countreye and foreste of Arroy and the countrey of straunge 
auentures. In this countrey, said syr Marhaus cam neuer 
knyghte syn it was crystened, but he fonde straunge auentures, 
and soo they rode, and cam in to a depe valey ful of stones, 
and ther by they sawe a fayr streme of water, aboue ther by 
was the hede of the streme, a fayr fontayne, & thre damoysels 
syttynge therby. And thenne they rode to them, and eyther 
salewed other, and the eldest had a garland of gold aboute her 
hede, and she was thre score wynter of age, or more, and her 
here ' was whyte under the garland. The second damoysel 

'Hair. 



ADVENTURES OF KNIGHTS-ERRANT. 29 

was of thirrty wynter of age, with a serkelet of gold aboute her 
hede. The thyrd damoysel was but xv yere of age, and a gar- 
land of floures aboute her hede. When these knyghtes had 
soo beholde them, they asked hem the cause why they sat at 
that fontayne ; we be here, sayd the damoysels, for thys cause, 
yf we may see ony erraunt knyghtes to teche hem unto 
straunge auentures, and ye be thre knyghtes that seken auen- 
tures, and we be thre damoysels, and therfore eche one of yow 
must chese one of us. And whan ye haue done soo, we wylle 
lede yow vnto thre hyhe wayes, and there eche of yow shall 
chese a wey and his damoysel wyth hym. And this day 
twelue monethe ye must mete here ageyn and god sende yow 
your lyues, and ther to ye must plyzte your trouthe. This is 
wel said, sayd Syr Marhaus. * * * Thenne euery damoy- 
sel took her knyght by the raynes of his brydel, and broughte 
him to the thre wayes, and there was their othe made to mete 
at the fontayne that day twelue moneth and they were lyvynge, 
and soo they kyst and departed, and eueryche knyghte sette his 
lady behynde him.' 

Sir Alysandre le Orphelin holds a piece of ground 
against all comers. A damsel called La Belle Alice pro- 
claims at Arthur's court that whoever overthrows him, 
shall have herself and all her lands. Many knights 
undertake the adventure, but all are defeated by Sir 
Alysandre. 

And whanne La Beale Alys sawe hym juste soo wel, she 
thought hym a passynge goodly knyght on horsbak. And 
thenne she lepte out of her pauelione, and toke Syr Alisandre 
by the brydel, and thus she sayd : Fayre knyght, I require the 
of thy knyghthode, shewe me thy vysage. I dar wel, sayd Sir 
Alysander shewe my vysage. And then he put of his helme, 

' " Morte d' Arthur." Southey's reprint from Caxton's ed., 1485, chaps, 
xix and xx, book 4. 



30 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

and she sawe his vysage, she said : O swete Jhesu ! the I must 
loue and neuer other. Thenne shewe me your vysage, said he. 
Thenne she unwympeled her vysage. And whanne he saw her, 
he sayde, here haue I fond my loue and my lady. Truly fayre 
lady, said he, I promise yow to be your knyghte, and none 
other that bereth the lyf. Now, gentil knyghte, said she, telle 
me your name. My name is, said he, Alysander le Orphelyn. 
Now damoysel, telle me your name, said he. My name is, said 
she, Alys la Beale Pilggrym. And whan we be more at oure 
hertes ease both ye and I shalle telle other of what blood 
we be come. Soo there was grete loue betwyxe them. And 
as they thus talked, ther came a knyghte that hyght Har- 
souse le Berbuse, and axed parte of Sir Alysanders speres. 
Thenne Sir Alysander encountred with hym, and at the fyrst 
Sir Alysander smote hym ouer his hors croupe.' 

Sir Tristram is thus welcomed at Arthur's court : 

Thenne Kynge Arthur took Sir Tristram by the hand, and 
wente to the table round. Thenne came Queue Guenever and 
many ladyes with her, and alle the ladyes sayden at one voyce, 
welcome Sir Tristram, welcome, said the damoysels, welcome 
said knightes, welcome said Arthur, for one of the best knyghts 
and the gentylst of the world, and the man of moost worship, 
for all manner of hunting thou berest the pryce, and of all 
mesures of blowynge thou art the begynninge, and of alle 
the termes of huntynge and haukinge ye are the begynner, of 
all Instrumentes of musyke ye are the best, therefor gentyl 
knyght, said Arthur, ye are welcome to this courte.^ 

The description of the combat between King Arthur 
and Accolon is perhaps the most interesting of the kind 
which the " Morte d' Arthur " contains. Accolon of Gaul 

' "Morte d' Arthur," book lo, chap, xxxix. 
° Southey's " Morte d' Arthur," vol. 2, p. ii. 



COMBAT OF ARTHUR AND ACCOLON. 3 1 

had by the aid of Morgan le Fay obtained possession of 
Arthur's enchanted sword and scabbard : ' 

And thenne they dressyd hem on bothe partyes of the felde, 
& lete their horses renne so fast that eyther smote other in 
the myddes of the shelde, with their speres hede, that bothe 
hors and man wente to the erthe. And thenne they sterte 
up bothe, and pulled oute their swerdys. * * * And so 
they went egrely to the battaille, and gaf many grete strokes, 
but alweyes Arthurs swerd bote^ not like Accolon's swerd. 
But for the most party euery stroke that Accolon gaf he 
wounded sore Arthur, that it was merueylle he stode. And 
alweyes his blood fylle from him fast. Whan Arthur be- 
helde the ground so sore bebledde he was desmayed, and 
thenne he demed treason that his swerd was chaunged, for his 
swerd boote not styl ' as it was wont to do, therefore he dredde 
hym sore to be dede, for euer hym semed that the swerd in 
Accolons hand was Excalibur, for at euery stroke that Accolon 
stroke he drewe blood on Arthur. Now knyghte, said Accolon 
unto Arthur, kepe the wel from me, but Arthur ansuered not 
ageyne, and gaf hym suche a buffet on the helme that he made 
hym to stoupe nygh fallynge doune to the erthe. Thenne Sir 
Accolon with drewe hym a lytel, and cam on with Excalibur on 
hyghe, and smote Syr Arthur suche a buffet that he felle nyhe 
to the erthe. Thenne were they wroth bothe, and gaf eche 
other many sore strokes, but alweyes Syr Arthur lost so moche 
blood that it was merueille he stode on his feet, but he was so 
ful of knighthode, that knyghtly he endured the payne. And 
Syr Accolon lost not a dele of blood, therefore he waxed 
passynge lyghte, and Syr Arthur was passynge feble, and 
wende veryly to have dyed, but for al that he made counte- 
naunce as though he myghte endure, and helde Accolon as 
shorte as he myght. But Accolon was so bolde by cause of 

' " Morte d' Arthur," book 4, chap. ix. 

"" Bit, cut. 'Cut not steel. 



32 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Excalibur that he waxed passynge hardy. * * * And 
therewith he cam fyersly upon Arthur, and syre Arthur was 
wrothe for the blood that he had lost, and smote Accolon on 
hyhe upon the helme soo myztely that he made hym nyhe 
to falle to the erthe. And therewith Arthurs swerd brast at 
the crosse and felle in the grasse amonge the blood, and the 
pomel and the sure handels he helde in his handes. When syr 
Arthur sawe that, he was in grete fere to dye, but alweyes he 
helde vp his shelde and lost no ground nor bated no chere. 
Thenne syre Accolon beganne with wordes of treason, and 
sayd knyghte thow arte ouercome, and mayste not endure, and 
also thow arte wepenles, and thow hast loste moche of thy 
blood, and I am ful lothe to slee the, therfor yelde the to me as 
recreaunt. Nay, saide syre Arthur I maye not so, for I haue 
promysed to doo the bataille to the vttermest by the feythe of 
my body whyle me lasteth the lyf, and therfor I had leuer to 
dye with honour than to lyve with shame. And yf it were 
possyble for me to dye an C tymes, I had leuer to dye so ofte, 
than yelde me to the, for though I lacke wepen, I shalle lacke 
no worship. And yf thou slee me wepenles that shalle be thy 
shame. Wei, sayd Accolon, as for the shame I wyl not spare. 
Now kepe the from me, for thow arte but a dede ma. And 
therwith Accolon gaf hym suche a stroke that he felle nyghe to 
the erthe, and wolde haue had Arthur to haue cryed hym 
mercy. But syre Arthur pressed unto Accolon with his sheld 
and gaf hym with the pomel in his hand suche a buffet that he 
wente thre strydes abak. * * * And at the next stroke 
Syr Accolon stroke hym suche a stroke that by the damoysels 
enchauntement the swerd Excalibur felle cute of Accolons 
hande to the erthe. And therwith alle syre Arthur lyghtely 
lepte to hit, and gate hit in his hand, and forwith al he knewe 
that it was his suerd Excalibur, & sayd thow hast ben from me 
al to long, & moche dommage hast thow done me. * * * 
And therwith syr Arthur russhed on hym with alle hys myghte, 
and pulled hym to the erthe, and thenne russhed of his helme. 



MEDI.'EVAL LOVE OF VIOLENCE. 33 

and gaf hym suche a buffet on the hede that the blood cam 
oute at his eres, his nose & his mouthe. Now wyll I slee the 
said Arthur. Slee me ye may wel, said Accolon, and it please 
yow, for ye ar the best knyghte that euer I fonde, and I see 
wel that god is with yow. 

The knights of the Round Table had much more diffi-_ 
culty in dealing with one another than in overcoming the 
most redoubtable giants. Sir Launcelot arrived at a 
giant's castle/ and " he looked aboute, and sawe moche 
peple in dores and wyndowes that sayd fayre knyghte thow 
art unhappy. Anone with al cam there vpon hym two 
grete gyaunts wel armed al sauf the hedes, with two hor- 
ryble clubbes in theyr handes. Syre Launcelot put his 
sheld afore hym and put the stroke aweye of the one 
gyaunt, and with his swerd he clafe his hede a sondre. 
Whan his felaw sawe that, he ran awey as he were wood, 
for fere of the horryble strokes, & laucelot after hym 
with al his myzt & smote hym on the sholder, and clafe 
hym to the nauel. Thenne Syre Launcelot went in to 
the halle, and there came afore hym thre score ladyes 
and damoysels, and all kneled unto hym, and thanked 
God and hym of their delyveraunce." The horrors 
of battle as recounted by the romancers lose much 
of their painfulness by the enjoyment which the com- 
batants take in them, and by the facility with which 
the most terrible wounds are healed. The mediaeval pas- 
sion for conflict and violence could hardly be more strik- 
ingly illustrated than by the words of the mother of 
Tristram, who had just given birth to her son in the 
midst of a forest, and being far from human aid, sees 
that her end is near. "Now lete me see my lytel child 

' " Morte d' Arthur," book 6, ch. x. 



34 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

for whome I haue had alle this sorowe. And whan she 
sawe hym she said thus, A my lytel sone, thou hast mur- 
thered thy moder, and therfore I suppose, thou that art 
a murtherer soo yong, thou arte ful lykely to be a manly 
man in thyn age." 

From the recital of combats we turn to tales of love. 
The most interesting of these relate to Launcelot and 
Guenever, and to Tristram and Isould. They differ in 
many respects, and yet share the noteworthy feature that 
both the women are already married, and their lovers are 
connected by ties of relationship or of great intimacy 
with the husbands whom they wrong. Arthur, however, 
is made to preserve, thoughout the story of his deception, 
the same dignity and the same respect which he had 
always possessed, and in the loyalty of his character 
never admits a doubt of his wife's virtue ; while King 
Mark, the husband of Isould, loses the sympathy of the 
reader by his treachery and cowardice, and is always con- 
scious of Isould's infidelity. Guenever and Launcelot 
feel the deeper and the nobler passion, as theirs is in- 
spired solely by each other's merit, while that of Isould 
and Tristram is inflamed by an amorous potion. The 
immorality of these love stories was not in the Middle 
Ages the same immorality which it would be considered 
at present. The conditions of life were all opposed to 
self-restraint. The standard of morals was set by the 
church, and according to her interpretation of Christi- 
anity, continence was so subsidiary to orthodoxy, that 
what would now be considered a crime, was in the Mid- 
dle Ages an irregularity which need not weigh on the 
conscience. Evidence of this is amply supplied by the 
social history of the time, and the fact is fully illustrated 

' " Morte d' Arthur," book 8, ch. i. 



LOVE IN THE "AfORTE D' ARTHUR." 35 

by the romances. The authors of these compositions, 
from their tendency to idealization, held up to their 
readers a higher view of virtue in every respect than was 
practised in actual life, and in their writings, conjugal in- 
fidelity is of constant occurrence. The fictitious personages 
who indulge in licence are but dimly conscious of wrong- 
doing, and almost the only evidence of a realization of their 
fault is in the Quest of the Saint Greal, when Launcelot 
and other noble knights acknowledge that the attainment 
of the sacred prize is not for them as being " sinful men," 
and the quest is achieved by the spotless Sir Galahad, 
who, impersonating the purifying influence of Christianity, 
forms the most striking character conceived by the fertile 
imagination of the Middle Ages. The virtue of con- 
stancy was far more admired than that of chastity, and 
it is said of Guenever, whose sin had brought such ca- 
lamity upon the Round Table, that " as she was a true 
lover, so she had a good end." 

Launcelot and Tristram vie with one another in the 
deeds of chivalry which they accomplish in honor of their 
ladies, and the intimacy which exists between the two 
knights and their mistresses adds much to the interest of 
the story. A fine touch in the loves of Tristram and 
Isould is the introduction of Sir Palomides, a valiant 
knight, almost the equal of Tristram in prowess, who 
loves Isould as passionately as his successful rival, but 
finds no favor to reward a long career of devotion. The 
passions of jealousy and hatred on the one hand, and 
knightly courtesy and honor on the other, which alter- 
nately sway the two warriors, and struggle for the mastery 
in their relations with each other, form a touching pict- 
ure, and show that the romancers could occasionally rise 
above the description of conflicts to a study of the heart 
and character of men. 



36 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

That our lovers felt a deep and absorbing passion, 

there can be no doubt. Sir Dynas, the Seneschal, tells 

the Queen Ig, Belle Isould that Sir Tristram is near : 

" Thenne for very pure joye la Beale Isould swouned, 

& whan she myghte speke, she said, gentyl knyghte 

Seneschall help that I myghte speke with him, outher 

my herte will braste." They meet, and then "to telle 

the joyes that were between la Beale Isoud and sire 

Tristram, there is no tongue can telle it, nor herte 

thinke it, nor pen wryte it." When Tristram thought 

Isoud unfaithful, he " made grete sorowe in so much 

that he fell downe of his hors in a swoune, and in 

suche sorowe he was in thre dayes and thre nyghtes." 

When he left her, Isoud was found " seke in here bedde, 

makynge the grettest dole that ever ony erthly woman 

made." " Sire Alysander beheld his lady Alys on hors- 

bak as he stood in her pauelione. And thenne was he 

soo enamoured upon her that he wyst not whether he 

were on horsbak or on foote." Sir Gareth falls in love at 

first sight : " and euer the more syr Gareth behelde that 

lady, the more he loued her, and soo he burned in loue 

that he was past himself in his reason, and forth toward 

nyghte they wente unto supper, and sire Gareth myghte 

not ete for his loue was soo hot that he wyst not wher he 

was." 

The Roman war introduced into the " Morte d' Arthur" 
'~~-is a curious illustration of the vagueness of the historical 
groundwork of the romances of chivalry. The memory 
of Roman power was still too great to permit a warrior 
to achieve greatness without having matched his strength 
against that of Rome, and thus we have the singular 
spectacle of King Arthur with his adventurous knights, 
clad in mail, passing easily through " Almayne " into 



THE SAINT GR£aL. 37 

Italy, conquering giants by the way, and reducing the 
Emperor Lucius to dependence. 

The story of the Saint Greal originally formed a dis- 
tinct romance, but it was the dull production of some 
ascetic monk, who thought that the knights of the 
Round Table were too much occupied with secular 
pursuits, and who found no greater encomium to pass 
upon Sir Galahad, than to call him a "maid." But 
the idea of the Christian knighthood setting out to 
seek the Holy Cup was " marvellous and adventurous," 
and so well suited to please the mediseval mind that we 
find this quest introduced into several of the romances 
of chivalry, and it appears, though in an incomplete 
form, in the " Morte d' Arthur." The adventures met 
with by the knighthood are much the same as when 
they were pursuing a less lofty object. Sir Galahad 
occupies the intervals between his serious occupations 
with rolling his father Sir Launcelot and other noble 
knights into the dust in the usual unsaintly fashion. 
The supernatural element is stronger perhaps in the story 
of the Saint Greal than in any other romance, and the 
monkish inspiration of the work is everywhere manifest. 
When Sir Galahad rescues the inmates of the Castle of 
Maidens by overthrowing their oppressors, the romancer 
points out that the Castle of Maidens " betokeneth the 
good souls that were in prison before the incarnation of 
Jesu Christ." It is here also that we learn that " Sir 
Launcelot is come but of the eighth degree from our 
Lord Jesu Christ, and Sir Galahad is of the ninth degree 
from our Lord Jesu Christ ; therefore I dare say that 
they be the greatest gentlemen of the world." 

When we have read of the " byrth, lyf and actes of 
Kyng Arthur, of his noble knyghtes of the rounde table, 



38 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

theyr mervayllous enquests and aduentures, th' achyeu- 
yng of the sangreal," we come to the " dolorous deth and 
departyng out of this world of them." It is indeed a 
" pytous hystory." Long drawn out as the romance is, 
serious tax though it sometimes be on the reader's 
patience, the author succeeds in making us so familiar 
with all his heroes, in inspiring us with so deep and 
active a sympathy with them, that it is with a real sad- 
ness that we read of the dissensions brought about by 
the loves of Launcelot and Guenever, the deserted 
Round Table, the separation of life-long companions, and 
the fraternal war between Sir Launcelot, Sir Gawaine, 
and King Arthur. Their love for each other was so 
strong that it is not wholly quenched even in the sangui- 
nary struggles which follow, and it bursts forth in full 
vigor when death comes upon them in the midst of their 
fury. Sir Gawaine is the first to go, using his last 
strength to write to Sir Launcelot begging his forgive- 
ness : " I byseche the. Sir Launcelot, to retorne ageyne 
vnto this realme, and see my tombe, & praye some 
prayer more or lesse for my soule." 

Whan syr Arthur wyst that syre Gawayne was layd so lowe 
he went vnto hym, and there the kyng made sorowe cute of 
mesure, and took sire Gawayne in his armes, and thryes' he 
there swouned. And thenne whan he awaked, he sayd, alias 
Sir Gawayne my sisters sone, here now thou lyggest," the man 
in the world that I loued moost, and now is my joye gone, for 
now my neuewe syre Gawayne I will discouer me vnto your 
persone, in syr Launcelot & you I had moost my joye and myn 
affyaunce, & now haue I lost my joye of you bothe, wherefor 
alie myn erthely joye is gone from me/ 

' Thrice. ^ Liest. 

^ " Morte d' Arthur," book 22, chap. ii. 



DEATH OF SIR LAUNCELOT. 39 

We turn from the death of Sir Gawaine only to witness 
the mortal blow dealt to King Arthur; to see his famous 
sword Excalibur, which he had borne so nobly and so 
long, returned to the Lady of the Lake ; and the almost 
lifeless body of the great king carried away over the 
water by the fairy queens, disappearing at last beneath 
the horizon. Guenever would seem to have deserved a 
harder fate than simply to retire to a nunnery of which 
she is made the abbess. Sir Launcelot dies a holy man 
and a monk, saying masses for the souls of his old com- 
panions in arms. With his death the old glory of the 
Round Table passes away forever. 

And whan syr Ector herd suche noyse & lyghte in the 
quyre of joyous Garde, he alyghted and put his hers from 
hym, and came in to the quyre, & there he sawe men synge 
the seruyse full lamentably. And alle they knewe syre Ector, 
but he knewe not them. Thenne went syr Bors to syr Ector, 
& tolde him how there laye hys broder syr Launcelot dede, 
and then syr Ector threwe his shelde, hys swerde & helme 
from hym. And whan he behelde syr Launcelot's vysage, he 
fell doune in a sowne. And when he awakyd it were harde 
for any tonge to telle the doleful compiayntes that he made 
for his broder. A, syr Launcelot, he sayd, thou were head 
of all Crysten knyztes, and now I dare saye, sayd syr Ector, 
thou syr Launcelot, ther thou lyest, that thou were neuer 
matched of none erthely knyghtes handes. And thou were 
the curtoyste knyghte that ever bare shelde. And thou were 
the truest frend to thy louer that euer bestradde hors, & 
thou were the truest louer of a synfull man that euer loued 
woman. And thou were the kyndest man that euer stroke 
wyth swerde. And thou were the goodelyest persone that euer 
came among prees of knyghtes. And thou were the mekest 
man & the gentylest that euer ete in halle amonge ladyes- 
And thou were the sternest knyghte to thy mortall foo that 



40 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

euer put spere in the reyst. Thenne there was wepyng & 
dolour oute of mesure.' • 

The literary form of the " Morte d' Arthur" admits of 
description rather than of criticism. A noble and forcible 
simplicity of expression pervades the old Norman French 
in which the romances of chivalry were first written, 
which is well reflected in the English of Sir Thomas 
Malory. Of plot there is none. The same vagueness 
pervades the course of the narrative, which is character- 
istic of the historical groundwork, the geography, and 
the time of action. Most of the incidents depend on 
chance. Life in the Middle Ages was a very serious 
affair, and in the romances there was almost no attempt 
at wit or humor. In the " Morte d' Arthur," perhaps 
the only passage which might have raised a laugh among 
the early readers of the romance, is that in which King 
Arthur's fool Dagonet is clad in Sir Mordred's armor, 
and in that disguise is made to chase before Kim the 
coward King Mark. The authors of the romances of 
chivalry never attempted delineation of character. Their 
heroes are good knights or bad knights, and in either 
case possess only the particular qualities which would 
place them in one of these categories. The female char- 
acters are still more slightly drawn, and show no distinct 
attributes except beauty and a capacity to love. 

In laying down the " Morte d' Arthur," and bidding 
farewell to the Middle Ages with their heroes of chivalry, 
we come to the end of a most picturesque period of 
English history, — a period marked by lights and shadows, 
rather than by distinct forms. There was ferocity, and 
there was courtesy; there was brilliant show and rude 

' " Morte d' Arthur," book 22, chap. xiii. 



END OF THE ''MORTE U ARTHUR." 4 1 

coarseness ; there were scenes of blood and scenes of 
noble chivalry. In the next chapter we shall notice the 
tendencies which were at work to replace this state of 
society by a better. But to the Middle Ages will always 
be traced much that is distinctive of English character, 
and in the history of fiction we may fairly allow to the 
knights of romance the legendary charm and fascination 
which hang about their bright helmets in the long vista 
of departed years. 



CHAPTER II. 

CHAUCER. POPULAR TALES. MORE'S "UTOPIA." 

TN the history of English intellectual development, 
between the vague ignorance of the Middle Ages and 
the new growth of learning in the sixteenth century, 
stands the great figure of Chaucer. The first English 
writer possessing dramatic power, he is the first also to 
unite with the art of story-telling, the delineation and 
study of human character. In his translation of the 
" Romaunt of the Rose" he belongs to the Middle Ages, 
— a period of uncontrolled imagination, of unsubstantial 
creations, of external appearances copied without reflec- 
tion. In his " Canterbury Tales " he belongs to the 
present, — when Reason asserts her authority, gives the 
stamp of individual reality to the characters of fiction, 
and studies the man himself behind his outward and 
visible form. 

The creations of romantic fiction were unreal beings 
distinguished by different names, by the different in- 
signia on their shields, and by the degree in which they 
possessed the special qualities which formed the ideal 
of mediaeval times. The story of their lives was but 
a series of adventures, strung together without plan, 
the overflow of an active but ungoverned imagination. 
The pilgrims to the shrine of Canterbury are men and 
women, genuine flesh and blood, as thoroughly individ- 

42 



CIIA UCER. 43 

ual and distinct as the creations of Shakespeare and of 
Fielding. They dress, they talk, each one after his own 
manner and according to his position in life, telling a 
story appropriate to his disposition and suitable to his 
experience. The knight, with armor battered in " mortal 
battailles " with the Infidel, describes the adventures of 
Palamon and Arcite, a tale of chivalry. The lusty young- 
squire, bearing himself well, " in hope to stonden in his 
lady grace," tells an Eastern tale of love and romance. 
The prioress, " all conscience and tendre herte," relates 
the legend of " litel Hew of Lincoln," murdered by the 
Jews for singing his hymn to the Virgin. The clerk of 
Oxford, who prefers to wealth and luxury his " twenty 
bookes clad in blak or reede," contributes the story of the 
patient Griselda. 

The "Canterbury Tales" are so familiar that an ex- 
tended notice of them here would be superfluous, es- 
pecially as we are dealing with narratives in prose form. 
But in seeking to trace the origin and progress of 
the English novel as it is now written, we must record 
the first appearance of its special characteristics in 
the works of Chaucer. Here are first to be seen real 
human beings, endowed with human virtues and subject 
to human frailties ; here fictitious characters are first rep- 
resented amid the homely scenes of daily life ; here 
they first become living realities whose nature and dis- 
positions every one may understand, and with whose 
thoughts every one may sympathize. We must notice, 
also, the significant fact that of the thirty-two pilgrims 
who jogged along together that April day, four were of a 
military character, eleven belonged to the clergy, and 
seventeen were of the common people. A century before 
Chaucer's time, when the feudal spirit was still all-power- 



44 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

ful, there were but two classes of men thought worthy of 
consideration, the knighthood and the clergy ; and in the 
romances of chivalry knights and priests exclusively 
composed the dramatis personce. But the slow progress 
of the masses, in whom lies the chief strength of a nation, 
becomes visible in Chaucer's time. In the towns the 
tradesmen were rising to wealth and consideration. In 
the country the yeomanry — the laborers and farmers — 
were throwing off their serfdom, and emerging from the 
chrysalis of obscurity in which they had long been hid- 
den. At Cressy and Poitiers the English archers dis- 
puted with the knighthood the honors of victory. While 
Chaucer was planning the " Canterbury Tales," introduc* 
ing into his gallery of contemporary portraits more 
figures of tradesmen than of knights or priests, the 
Peasant Revolt took place ; the common people, long 
trodden in the dust, rose in defence of their rights as 
men, and John Ball, the " mad priest of Kent," asked 
questions of the yeomen about him which showed how 
surely the Middle Ages were becoming a part of the 
past. " By what right are they whom we call lords 
greater folk than we ? * * * If we all came of the 
same father and mother, of Adam and Eve, how can they 
say or prove that they are better than we, if it be not 
that they make us gain for them by our toil what they 
spend in their pride ?"***" When Adam delved 
and Eve span, who was then the gentleman ? " ' As in 
the history of Chaucer's time, so in his " Canterbury 
Tales " we perceive the decline of feudal and priestly 
tyranny which had gone hand in hand : the one keeping 
up a perpetual state of war and violence ; the other 
limiting and enfeebling the human intellect, the activity 
of which could alone raise mankind out of barbarism. 

'Green's " Short History of the English People," p. 243. 



DECLINE OF FEUDALISM. 45 

I 

The passion for war and for a military life which had 
kept Europe in a state of constant disturbance during 
the Middle Ages, which had brought about the Hundred 
Years' struggle between England and France, and which 
had found its worst issue in the Wars of the Roses in 
the fifteenth century, had, in the sixteenth century 
largely spent its force. The pomp and luxury of chivalry 
had lessened the activity of military feelings. The ex- 
pense entailed by chivalric pageantry had diminished the 
power of the nobles over their dependents. Many feudal 
barons were obliged to sell liberty and privileges to part 
of their bondsmen to obtain the wherewithal to maintain 
the remainder. The gradual growth of the towns and 
of trade produced a class which, having all to lose and 
nothing to gain by war, threw its influence against dis- 
order. The advance in the study and practice of law 
diminished habits of violence by furnishing legal redress. 
But the most powerful agent in destroying the old war- 
like taste was the invention of gunpowder. In the 
Middle Ages the whole male population had been 
soldiers in spirit and in fact. But the application of 
gunpowder to the art of war made it necessary that men 
should be especially trained for the military profession. 
A limited number were therefore separated from the 
main body of the people, who occupied themselves ex- 
clusively with military affairs, while the remainder were 
left to pursue the hitherto neglected arts of peace. The 
love of war and the indifference to human suffering so 
long nourished by feudalism could only be thoroughly 
extinguished by centuries of gradual progress. The 
heads of queens and ministers of state falling from the 
block attest the strength of these feelings in Henry the 
Eighth's time. They were, however, fast losing ground 



4^ HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

before the new growth of learning. Their decline is il- 
lustrated by the fiction of the sixteenth century, as their 
full power was depicted in the early romances of chivalry. 
In the sixteenth century, chivalry as an institution, 
and even as an influential ideal had entirely passed away. 
The specimens of romantic fiction which were read dur- 
ing the reigns of Henry the Eighth and of Elizabeth 
could no longer appeal to an entirely warlike and super- 
stitious class. They were modified to meet new tastes, 
and in the process became superior in literary merit, 
but inferior in force and interest. This is especially true 
of the romances translated from the Spanish. Amadis 
of Gaul and Palmerin of England show merits of narra- 
tive sequence and elegance of expression which did not 
belong to the earlier romances, of which the " Morte 
d' Arthur " formed a compendium. But the chivalry of 
Amadis and Palmerin was polished, refined, and exag- 
gerated till it became entirely fanciful and lost the old 
fire and spirit. In the so-called tales of chivalry pro- 
duced or adapted by English writers during this century 
there is no trace of the poetry and interest of chivalric 
sentiments. In "Tom-a-Lincoln," the Red Rose Knight, 
the noble King Arthur is represented as an old dotard, 
surrounded by knights who bear no resemblance in per- 
son or in the nature of their adventures to their proto- 
types of romantic fiction.' 

' " Tom-a-Lincoln " has been reprinted in W. J. Thorn's valuable collec- 
tion of " Early English Prose Romances," where may also be found a story 
similar in nature, called "Helyas Knight of theSwanne." I do not consider 
these productions worthy of more extended notice here, as they possess no 
interest in themselves, and serve only to illustrate the degeneracy of the 
fictions relating to the knighthood during the l6th century. The compila- 
tion called " The Seven Champions of Christendom," by Richard Johnson, 
the author of " Tom-a-Lincoln," said to contain " all the lyes of Christen- 
dom in one lye," obtained considerable popularity and circulation during 
this period. Uunlop mentions (" Hist, of Fiction," chap, xiv) the "Ornatus 



ROBIN HOOD. 47 

The ideal character of the yeomanry succeeded to the 
ideal character of the knighthood ; Robin Hood and his 
merry companions took the place in the popular mind 
which belonged to King Arthur and his knights of the 
Table Round. The yeomen of England were imbued 
with a spirit of courage and liberty unknown to the same 
class on the continent of Europe, and their love of free- 
dom and restless activity of disposition found a reflection 
in the person of their hero. Supposed to have lived in 
the thirteenth century, his name and achievements have 
been sung in countless rhymes and ballads, and have re- 
mained dear to the common people down to the present 
day. The patron of archery, the embodiment of the 
qualities most loved by the people — courage, generosity, 
faithfulness, hardihood, — the places he frequented, the 
well he drank from, have always retained his name, and 
his bow, with one of his arrows, was preserved with ven- 
eration as late as the present century.' The ideal of the 
yeomanry was similar to that of chivalry in the love of 
blows fairly given and cheerfully taken, in the love of 
fighting for fighting's sake. It was similar in the courtesy 
which was always a characteristic of Robin Hood ; in the 
religious devotion which caused the outlaw to hear three 
masses every morning before setting out on his depreda- 
tions; in the gallantry which restrained him from molest- 
ing any party which contained a woman.'' But the tales 
relating to Robin Hood differ from those of the Round 
Table in their entire freedom from affectation and from 

and Artesia," and "Parismus, Prince of Bohemia," by Emanuel Ford, and the 
"Pheander, or Maiden Knight," by Henry Roberts, belonging to the same 
class of composition. An English version of the old tale of Robert the 
Devil belongs to this period, and may be found in W. J. Thorn's col- 
lection. 

' Ritson's "Robin Hood." 

' Hunter's " Robin Hood," p. 13. 



48 HISTOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

supernatural machinery. They breathe, too, an open-air 
spirit of liberty and enjoyment which was pleasing and 
comprehensible to the dullest intellect, and which made 
them, in the broadest sense, popular. The good-humored 
combativeness of the yeoman sympathized with every 
beating which Robin Hood received, and with every 
beating which he gave. In Robin's enmity to the clergy, 
in his injunction to his followers, 

" Thyse byshoppes and thyse archebyshoppes, 
Ye shall them bete and bynde," 

the people applauded resistance to the extortion of the 
church. In Robin's defiance of the law and its officers, 
they applauded resistance to the tyranny of the higher 
classes. Waylaying sheriffs and priests, or shooting the 
king's deer in Sherwood Forest, the famous outlaw and 
his merry men, clad all in green, were the popular heroes. 
On Robin Hood's day the whole population turned gaily 
out to celebrate his festival, never weary of singing or 
hearing the ballads which commemorated his exploits. 
Robin was a robber, but in times of disorder highway 
robbery has always been an honorable occupation, and 
the outlaws of Sherwood Forest were reputed to give to 
the poor what they took from the rich. Diligent enquiries 
have been made to ascertain whether the personage 
known as Robin Hood had a real existence, but without 
positive results. The story of his life is purely legendary, 
and the theories in regard to him have never advanced 
beyond hypothesis. It is exceedingly probable that such 
a man lived in the twelfth or thirteenth century, and that 
the exploits of other less prominent popular heroes were 
connected with his name and absorbed in his reputation. 
The noble descent which has often been ascribed to him 



ROBIN HOOD. 49 

is in all likelihood the result of the mediaeval idea, that 
the great virtues existed only in persons of gentle birth. 
This very prevalent opinion is often apparent in the 
romances of chivalry, where knights of exceptional valor, 
who had supposed themselves to be basely descended, 
almost invariably turn out to be the long-lost offspring 
of a famous and noble person. Like the tales of chivalry, 
the narratives of Robin Hood's adventures were sung and 
recited in metrical form long before they found their way 
into prose. The following extract forms a part of the 
first chapter of the story called the " Merry Exploits of 
Robin Hood," which had a considerable circulation in 
the sixteenth century. 

" Robin Hood's Delights ; or, a gallant combate fought be- 
tween Robin Hood, Little John, and William Scarlock, and 
three of the keepers of the King's deer, in the forest of Sher- 
wood, in Nottinghamshire." 

" On a midsummer's day, in the morning, Robin Hood, 
being accompanied with Little John and William Scarlock, did 
walk forth betimes, and wished that in the way they might meet 
with some adventures that might be worthy of their valour ; 
they had not walked long by the forrest side, but behold three 
of the keepers of the king's game appeared, with their forrest- 
bills in their hands, and well appointed with faucheons and 
bucklers to defend themselves. Loe here (saith Robin Hood) 
according to our wish we have met with our mates, and before 
we part from them we will try what mettle they are made off. 
What, Robin Hood, said one of the keepers ; I the same, 
reply'd Robin. Then have at you, said the keepers : here are 
three of us and three of you, we will single out ourselves one to 
one ; and bold Robin, I for my part am resolved to have a 
bout with thee. Content, with all my heart, said Robin Hood, 
and Fortune shall determine who shall have the best, the out- 



50 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

laws or the keepers ; with that they did lay down their coats, 
which were all of Lincoln Green, and fell to it for the space 
of two hours with their brown bills, in which hot exercise 
Robin Hood, Little John and Scarlock had the better, and 
giving the rangers leave to breathe, demanded of them how 
they liked them : Why ! good stout blades i'faith, saith the 
keeper that fought with Robin, we commend you * * * 
I see that you are stout men, said Robin Hood, we will fight 
no more in this place, but come and go with me to Nottingham, 
(I have silver and gold enough about me) and there we will 
fight it out at the King's Head tavern with good sack and 
claret ; and after we are weary we will lay down our arms, and 
become sworn brothers to one another, for I love those men that 
.will stand to it, and scorn to turn their backs for the proudest 
Tarmagant of them all. With all our hearts, jolly Robin, said 
the keepers to him : so putting up their swords and on their 
doublets, they went to Nottingham, where for three days space 
they followed the pipes of sack, and butts of claret without 
intermission, and drank themselves good friends." 

The story of " George-a-Green," the brave Pindar of 
Wakefield is very similar to that of Robin Hood. George 
was as fond as his more noted friend of giving and taking 
hard knocks, and it is his skilful and judicious use of the 
quarter-staff in fulfilling the duties of his office, which 
gives rise to the incidents of the story. A curious relic 
of chivalry appears in the passage where Robin Hood 
the outlaw, and George-a-Green the pound-keeper, meet 
to decide with their quarter-staves the relative merit of 
their sweethearts.' 

Of the stories relating to the yeomanry the most im- 
portant was the " Pleasant Historic of Thomas of Read- 
ing ; or, The Sixe Worthie Yeomen of the West," by 

' " George-a-Green," chap, x, Thorn's " Early Eng. Prose Romances." 



THOMAS OF READING. $1 

Thomas Deloney, a famous ballad-maker of the i6th 
century. It is the narrative of the life and fortunes of a 
worthy clothier of Henry the First's time, telling how he 
rose to wealth and prosperity, and was finally murdered 
by an innkeeper. There is interwoven a relation of the 
unhappy loves of the " faire Margaret," daughter of the 
exiled Earl of Shrewsbury, and of Duke Robert, the 
King's brother, which ends in the Duke losing his eyes, 
and the fair Margaret being immured in a convent. The 
story illustrates some curious old customs, and is written 
in an unaffected and easy style, which makes it still very 
readable. A passage describing the churching feast of 
the wife of one of the " Sixe worthie yeomen," makes a 
natural and humorous picture of contemporary manners. 

Sutton's wife of Salisbury, which had lately bin deliuered of 
a Sonne, against her going to church, prepared great cheare ; 
at what time Simon's wife of Southhampton came thither, and 
so did diuers others of the clothiers' wiues, onelyto make merry 
at this churching feast : and whilest these dames sate at the 
table, Crab, Weasell and Wren waited on the board, and as the 
old Prouerbe speaketh. Many women, many words, so fell it out 
at that time : for there was such prattling that it passed : some 
talkt of their husbands' frowardnes, some shewed their maids' 
sluttishnes, othersome deciphered the costlines of their gar- 
ments, some told many tales of their neighbours : and to be 
briefe there was none of them but would have talke for a whole 
day. 

But when Crab, Weazell and Wren saw this, they concluded 
betwixt themselues, that as oft as any of the women had a good 
bit of meate on their trenchers, they offering a cleane one 
should catch that commodity, and so they did : but the women 
being busie in talke, marked it not, till at the last one found 
leisure to raisse her meate * * * * 'pj^e women seeing 



52 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

their men so merry, said it was a sign there was good ale in 
the house.' 

As the decline of disorder and of martial tastes had 
given men the opportunity to lead other than military- 
lives, so the decline of the theological spirit enabled them 
to attain that diffusion of knowledge without which there 
could be no civilization. The Roman clergy, during 
many centuries, partly from conscientious motives, and 
partly to maintain their own power, had suppressed in- 
tellectual and material advancement, and had kept men 
in a state of gross ignorance and superstition. In Eng- 
land the church gradually lost her old influence by her in- 
ternal rottenness ; she was unable to resist the new 
growth of learning which sprang up in the first half of 
the sixteenth century ; and her power for evil was de- 
stroyed by the Reformation. The superstitions, however, 
which she had nourished, lingered long after her power 
had passed away, and these have given birth to some 
curious specimens of fiction. The natural tendency of 
an ignorant and superstitious people was to ascribe 
superior mental ability to intercourse with Satan, and to 
imagine that any unusual learning must be connected 
with the occult sciences. These ideas are illustrated by 
the stories relating to Friar Bacon and to Virgil which 
were printed during the sixteenth century, and which em- 
bodied the legends regarding these great men which had 
passed current for two hundred years. The same igno- 
rant indifference to useful learning which made Roger 
Bacon, the great philosopher of the thirteenth century, 
" unheard, forgotten, buried," represented him after his 
death as a conjurer doing tricks for the amusement of a 

' " Thomas of Reading," chap. I2. 



FRIAR BACON. 53 

king. "The Famous Historic of Frier Bacon," is writ- 
ten in a clear and simple style, very similar to that of 
"Thomas of Reading," and recounts: "How Fryer 
Bacon made a Brazen Head to speake, by the which hee 
would have walled England about with Brasse " ; " how 
Fryer Bacon by his arte took a towne, when the king had 
lyen before it three months, without doing to it any 
hurt " ; with much more of the same sort. This story 
would be without interest, were it not for the introduc- 
tion of the Friar's servant, one Miles, whose futile at- 
tempts at seconding his master's efforts, and sometimes 
at imitating them, occasion some very amusing scenes. 
Friar Bungay, the famous conjurer of Edward the 
Fourth's time, appears as Bacon's assistant. 

Virgil was treated in the same way. The age which 
turned Hercules into a knight-errant, very consistently 
represented the poet and philosopher as a magician. All 
through the Middle Ages the name of Virgil had been 
connected with necromancy. " The authors," says Nau- 
deus,' " who have made mention of the magic of Virgil 
are so many that they cannot be examined one after 
another, without loss of much time." On the title-page 
of the " Lyfe of Virgilius," we learn that : " This boke 
treateth of the lyfe of Virgilius, and of his deth, and many 
mervayles that he dyd in hys lyfe tyme by whychcrafte 
and nygramancye thorowgh the helpe of the devyls of 
Hell." Some of the " mervayles" being : " Howe Virgil- 
ius made a lampe that at all tymes brenned " ; " howe 
Virgilius put out all the fyer of Rome "; "howe Virgilius 
made in Rome a metall serpente." In this story of Vir- 
gil occurs a curious instance of the appearance of the 
same incident in very different works of fiction. The 

* Thorn's preface to " Vigilius." " Early Eng. Prose Romances." 



54 HISrO'RY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

poet being enamoured of a certain Roman lady, per- 
suaded her to lower a basket from her window, in which 
he should enter and be drawn up to her chamber. The 
lady assented, but when the basket had ascended half 
way, she left her lover to hang there, exposed the next 
morning to the ridicule of the populace, for which treach- 
er)^ Virgil takes a terrible revenge. This story of the 
basket became very popular; it was introduced into a 
well-known French fabliau' ; and Bulwer worked it, with 
slight changes, into his novel of " Pelham," where Monsieur 
Margot experiences the same sad reflections concerning 
the deceitfulness of woman, which had long before passed 
through the mind of Virgil. 

The devil himself, or more properly, one of the many 
devils who abounded in the sixteenth century, is the hero 
of the " Historic of Frier Rush." 

The imagination of the peasantry had peopled the 
woods and dells with gay and harmless spirits, fairies and 
imps. These were sometimes mischievous, but might 
always be propitiated, and excited in the rural mind curi- 
osity and amusement rather than fear. But the clergy, 
who shared in the popular superstitions, and gave as 
ready a belief as the peasantry to the existence of these 
supernatural beings, were unable from the nature of their 
creed to admit the possibility that these spirits were 
harmless. To the monks all supernatural creatures were 
either angels or devils, and under their influence the imps 
and fairies whom the peasants believed to be dancing 
and playing pranks about them were turned into demons 
bent on the destruction of human souls.^ Friar Rush 
was probably at one time a good-natured imp like Robin 

' " Lai d' Hippocrate," Le Grand. Thorn's Preface to " Virgilius." 
* Wright's " Essays on the Middle Ages." Essay x. 



"HISTORIE OF FRIER RUSH." 55 

Good Fellow, but under the influence of Christian super- 
stition he became the typical emissary from Satan, who 
played tricks among men calculated to set them by the 
ears, and who sought by various devices, always amusing, 
to fit them for residence in his master's dominions. 

In the history before us, which is probably only one of 
many which circulated concerning the mischievous friar, 
he obtains admission into a convent for the purpose of 
debauching its inmates. Having received employment 
as under-cook, he soon finds means to throw his master 
into a cauldron of boiling water, and pretending that the 
cook's death resulted from an accident, he obtains the 
chief position in the kitchen himself. He then provides 
the convent with such delicious food that the monks 
give themselves up entirely to material enjoyment, and 
finally reach a condition of degeneracy from which re- 
covery is almost impossible. Rush, however, is exposed 
in time to prevent absolute ruin, and sets out to make up 
for this failure by good service elsewhere. The story is 
described on the title-page as " being full of pleasant 
mirth and delight for young people." 

The tales of the yeomanry were very popular during 
the sixteenth century, and were sold as penny chap- 
books for many years. They form an interesting link in 
the history of English prose fiction, representing as they 
do the first appearance of a popular demand for prose 
stories, and the first appearance, except in Chaucer, of 
other than military or clerical heroes. They possess an 
element of reality which separates the chivalric ideal of 
the Middle Ages from the pastoral-chivalric ideal of Eliz- 
abeth's time, the latter typified by Sidney's "Arcadia." 
The tales relating to the conjurers are quite mediaeval 
in character. They are of interest only so far as they 



5 6 HI ST OR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION: 

serve to illustrate the effect of popular superstition upon 
the literature of the time. 

The New Learning, growing up in the place of war and 
theology, meant the dawn of material prosperity, of the 
rule of law, and of a new intelligence diffused through 
the opinions and industries of men. Of this there is no 
better exposition than Sir Thomas More's " Utopia." 
More was a devout Catholic. He wore a hair shirt next 
his skin ; he flogged himself ; he gave his life for a theo- 
logical principle. But he was also a Christian in a wider 
sense. He appreciated the importance to men of peace 
and happiness, as well as of orthodoxy. He sought to 
promote, what the clergy sought to destroy, the benefits 
of intellectual and material advancement. More was a 
lawyer, seeing clearly into the temper of his time, and 
discerning the new tendencies which were forming the 
opinions and influencing the actions of his countrymen. 
It was as a lawyer, too, that he was able to do this. As 
a soldier, or as the inmate of that Carthusian cell his 
youth had longed for, he would have shared the prevail- 
ing blindness. For many centuries all intellectual activi- 
ty had been occupied with theological disputes, — how 
barren it is needless to say ; all physical activity had 
been occupied in destroying or in protecting life. 
"There were indeed," says Buckle,' "many priests and 
many warriors, many sermons and many battles. But, 
on the other hand, there was neither trade, nor com- 
merce, nor manufactures ; there was no science, no litera- 
ture ; the useful arts were entirely unknown ; and even 
the highest ranks of society were unacquainted, not only 
with the most ordinary comforts, but with the common- 
est decencies of civilized life." But the New Learning 
'Buckle's " Hist, of Civilization," vol. l, p. 147. Appleton's ed. 



MORE' S '' UTOPIA." 57 

dealt with secular subjects, and aimed at material wel- 
fare. At Antwerp, says More : 

" Vpon a certayne daye, when I hadde herde the diuine ser- 
uice in our Ladies Churche, which is the fayrest, the most gor- 
geous and curious churche of buyldyng in all the Citie, and 
also most frequented of people, and the seruice beynge doone, 
was readye to go home to my lodgynge, I chaunced to espye 
this foresayde Peter talkynge with a certayne Straunger, a man 
well stricken in age, with a blacke sonneburned face, a longe 
bearde, and a cloke cast homly about his shoulders, whome, by 
his fauoure and apparell furthwith I iudged to bee a mariner.^ 

This was the fictitious personage whose travels had led 
him to the distant island of Utopia, and who described to 
Sir Thomas the nature of its government. Europe for fif- 
teen centuries had been under the control of the clergy, 
and what had been the result ? Where was the prog- 
ress? How much had the barbarism of one century 
differed from that of the last? But in Utopia there was 
no priesthood. Men had a simple faith. They " were 
persuaded that it is not in a man's power to believe what 
he list," and when they met in public worship it was to 
hold such services that all might freely join in them. 
Religion in Utopia was left to the individual conscience. 
War was considered an unmitigated evil, and never un- 
dertaken except in the extremest necessity. The people 
of Utopia, therefore, not being exclusively occupied, on 
the one hand, with discussing their religion and enforcing 

' "^ fruteful and plesaunt worke of the teste state of a publyque weale, 
and of the iiewe ylc called Utopia : ivritten in Latine by Syr Thomas More 
KNYGHI', and translated into Englysshe by Raphe Robynson Citizein and 
Goldsmylhe of London at the proctirement and earnest request of George Tad- 
lowe Citizein and Haberdassher of the same Citie. Imprinted at London by 
Abraham Wele, dwelling in Paul's Churcheyarde at the Sygne of the Lambe. 
Anno, I55I." Ai'ber's reprint. 



58 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

it on others, or, on the other hand, with violating all its 
teachings, were able to think of other things. How to 
make the best laws for the government of the common- 
wealth ; how to deal with crime, with labor ; how to pro- 
mote the highest condition of general well-being, as 
regarded the public health, public education, the comfort 
and cleanliness of dwellings ; — these were the questions 
which the Utopians considered most important, and these 
were solved by the exercise of human reason. These 
were questions, too, with which the English people found 
themselves confronted in the beginning of the sixteenth 
century, and before that century had passed away,^the 
results even of a very imperfect solution regarding them 
were apparent in every department and in every class of 
life. 

The great mind, the noble character of Sir Thomas 
More stand out the best production of his time. The 
strong religious bias of the man made it inevitable that 
he should remain considerably under the influence of the 
old theological teachings, but in the intelligent man of 
the world, in the large-hearted philanthropist, in the 
honest patriot, appear the new and beneficent tendencies 
which were at work. Like all men who have been in ad- 
vance of their time. More was looked upon as a dreamer. 
A dreamer he might naturally seem, who, in the begin- 
ning of the sixteenth century, looked for peace, for re- 
ligious toleration, for justice to the lower classes. But 
these dreams were destined to be realized long after 
More's headless body had crumbled to dust, by that 
learning which he himself so seduously cultivated, and 
by the decay, too, of some of those ideas for which he 
died a martyr's death. The growth of the universities, 
the establishment of grammar schools, the impetus given 



SIR THOMAS MORE. 59 

to all useful occupations during the reign of Henry VIII, 
were gradually aiding the advance of that new era in the 
history of England which developed so brilliantly under 
Elizabeth. In her reign the old warlike spirit had de- 
cayed, theology had lost its obstructive power, and hu- 
man reason began to bear its legitimate fruits — prosperity 
and civilization. 



CHAPTER III. 

THE AGE OF ELIZABETH : LYLY, GREENE, LODGE, SIDNEY. 



TN the rapidity and scope of intellectual and material 
progress, the age of Elizabeth is unequaled in 
English history. The nation seemed to pass from the 
darkness of night into a sunshine which would never 
end. Freed from the trammels which had hitherto im- 
peded their way, all classes put on a new vigor, a new 
enterprise, and a new intelligence, which brought ad- 
vancement into every walk of life. The spread of the 
Copernican doctrine of the revolutions of the earth, and 
the relations of our planet to the solar system gradually 
drove before it the old anthropocentric ideas. Men 
looked into the heavens and saw a new universe. In the 
grand scheme of creation there unfolded before them, 
they read in spite of themselves the comparative insig- 
nificance of their own world, and an overwhelming blow 
was dealt at the narrowness and superstition which had 
hitherto characterized their thoughts. A new world, too, 
was fast becoming known. The circumnavigation of the 
earth by Drake, the visits of other Englishmen to the 
shores of Africa and America, even to the Arctic seas, 
awakened a deep and healthful curiosity. There arose a 
passion for travelling, for seeing and studying foreign 
lands. Those who were forced to remain at home de- 
I 60 



THE AGE OF ELIZABETH. 6 1 . 

voured with eagerness the books of those who wandered 
abroad. The effects of this widening of the mental and 
physical horizon are observable in the new occupations 
which absorbed the energies of men, and in the new so- 
cial life which all classes were beginning to lead. Im- 
provements in husbandry doubled the productiveness of 
the soil, and greatly enhanced its value. The develop- 
ment of manufactures made English woolens in demand 
throughout Europe. In commerce the new spirit of enter- 
prise was strikingly apparent. Tradesmen and nobles, 
ministers of state, Elizabeth herself — all who could, vent- 
ured something in the ships which sailed for America or 
Africa in the hope of golden cargoes. The Russia com- 
pany brought home furs and flax, steel, iron, ropes, and 
masts. The Turkey merchants imported the productions 
of the Levant, silks and satins, carpets, velvets, and cloth 
of gold. By the side of these were laid in London mar- 
kets, the rice, cotton, spices, and precious stones of India, 
and the sugar, rare woods, gold, silver, and pearls of the 
New World.^ 

Under the influence of this new enterprise and pros- 
perity, the picture of social life becomes more pleasing. 
The English noble succeeded to the feudal baron, the 
manor to the fortress. With the coat of mail and huge 
two-handed sword passed away the portcullis and the 
moat. The new homes of the nobility, erected during 
Elizabeth's reign, were marked by a beauty and luxury 
in keeping with the new ideas of their owners. The eye 
still rests with admiration on the numberless gables, the 
quaint chimneys, the oriel windows, the fretted parapets 
of the Tudor building. Within, the magnificent stair- 
cases, the great carved chimney-pieces, the massive oaken 

' Fioude's " History of England," vol. 8, p. 429. 



62 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

furniture, the costly cabinets, and elaborate tapestries all 
attested the new wealth and the new taste of the occu- 
pants. A large chamber of Hardwicke Hall was deco- 
rated with a frieze representing a stag hunt, and beneath 
that the story of Ulysses wrought in tapestry/ Harring- 
ton rejoiced in the number of " goodly chambers, large 
gardens and sweet walks " of Elizabeth's palaces. The 
" goodly chambers " were filled with cloths of gold and 
silver, with satin-covered furniture, and silk coverlids 
lined with ermine. In the houses of knights and gentle- 
men were to be seen a great profusion of " Turkie worke, 
pewter, brasse, fine linen, and thereto costlie cupbords of 
plate worth five or six hundred or a thousand pounds." '^ 
The lord of the manor no longer took his meals with all 
his retainers in the great hall, throwing the bones and 
scraps from his wooden trencher to his dogs. He with- 
drew into a separate apartment, and dined with a new 
refinement. A hitherto unknown variety of food covered 
the table, served on pewter, china, or silver, instead of 
the primitive trencher. 

The bands of retainers who had hung round the castle, 
living at the expense of its lord, and ready to follow him 
in his career of violence, were gradually being absorbed 
in useful and industrial pursuits. Among the yeomanry 
the general progress was exceedingly noticeable. The 
character and worth of this important class were com- 
mented upon by Holinshed.^ "This sort of people * * * 
commonlie live wealthilie, keepe good houses and travel! 
to get riches. They are also for the most part farmers 
to gentlemen, or at the leastwise artificers, and with 

' Stone, " Chronicles of Fashion." 

'^ Holinshed, vol. i, p. 315 ; Drake's " Shakespeare and his Times," vol. 
I, p. 72. 
'Holinshed, vol. i, p. 275 ; Drake's "Shakespeare," vol. i, p. 99. 



SOCIAL mOGRESS. 63 

grazing, frequenting of markets, and keeping of servants 
(not idle servants as the gentlemen doo, but suche as get 
bothe their owne and part of their master's living), do 
come to great welth, in so much that manie of them are 
able and doo buie the lands of unthriftie gentlemen, and 
often setting their sonnes to the schooles, to the univer- 
sities, and to the Ins of the Court, or otherwise leaving 
them sufficient lands whereupon they may live without 
labour, do make them by those meanes to become gen- 
tlemen : these were they that in times past made all 
France afraid, and albeit they be not called Master, as 
gentlemen are, or Sir, as to knights apperteineth, but 
only John, and Thomas, etc., yet have they beene found 
to have doone verie good service ; and the kings of Eng- 
land in foughten battels, were woont to remain among 
them (who were their footmen), as the French kings did 
among their horsemen ; the prince thereby showing 
where his chief strength did consist." This middle class 
were enjoying a luxury and comfort undreamt of by their 
fathers, or indeed by the nobility of feudal times. 
Thatched cottages smeared with mud were fast being 
succeeded by brick or stone houses, finely plastered, with 
glass windows, chairs in place of stools, and tables in 
place of rough boards lying loosely on tressles. " Farm- 
ers learned also to garnish their cupboards with plate, 
their joined beds with tapestrie and silken hangings, and 
their tables with carpets and fine naperie, whereby the 
wealth of our countrie * * * doth infinitelie ap- 
peare." ' The new comforts, enumerated by Harrison, 
presented a striking contrast to the condition the " old 
men " had been satisfied with in their " yoong daies." 
" Our fathers (yea, and we ourselves also) have lien full 

* Harrison's " Description " ; Drake's " Shakespeare," vol. i, p. loi. 



64 HISTOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

oft upon straw pallets, on rough mats * * * and a 
good round log under their heads instead of a bolster or 
pillow. If it were so that our fathers, or the good man 
of the house, had within eleven years after his marriage 
purchased a matteras or flockebed, and thereto a sacke 
of chaffe to rest his head upon, he thought himself to be 
as well lodged as the lord of the towne." The new com- 
forts were the result, not of extravagance, but of pros- 
perity. Notwithstanding the rigid economy of the old 
times, men " were scearce able to live and paie their rents at 
their daies without selling of a cow, or an horse or more, 
although they paid but four pounds at the uttermost by 
the yeare, * * * whereas in my time," says Harri- 
son, " although peradventure foure pounds of old rent be 
improved to fourtie, fiftie, or an hundred poundes, yet 
will the farmer as another palme or date tree, thinke his 
gaines verie small toward the end of his terme, if he had 
not six or seven yeares rent lieing by him, therewith to 
purchase a new lease, beside a faire garnish of pewter on 
his cupboard, with so much in od vessell going aboute 
the house, three or four feather beds, so manie coverlids 
and carpets of tapestrie, a silver salt, a bowle for wine * 
* * and a dozzen of spoones to furnish up the sute." ' 
The country gentleman sitting in his hall, hawk on hand, 
with his hounds about him, made a profuse hospitality 
his chief pride, and out-door sports the resource of his 
leisure and conversation. Greek and Latin were gradu- 
ally making their way into his store of knowledge, hith- 
erto limited to the romances and chronicles. But as 
Ascham complained, there was little sweetness to flavor 
his cup of learning. " Masters for the most part so be- 
have themselves," said Peacham, " that their very name 

' Drake's " Shakespeare and his Times," vol. i, p. loi. 



RURAL AMUSEMENTS. 65 

is hatefull to the scholler, who trembleth at their com- 
ming in, rejoyceth at their absence, and looketh his mas- 
ter (returned) in the face, as his deadly enemy," ' 

The amusements of the rural population partook of the 
character of material prosperity and material enjoyment 
which were so prominent in Elizabeth's reign. There is 
no sign of the prevailing improvement in the condition 
of men more suggestive than the effervescence of spirits 
which broke loose on every holiday and at every festival. 
On the first day of May " the juvenile part of both sexes 
are wont to rise a little after midnight, and walk to some 
neighboring wood, accompany'd with music and the blow- 
ing of horns, where they break down branches from the 
trees and adorn them with nosegays and crowns of flow- 
ers. When this done, they return with their booty 
homewards about the rising of the sun, and make their 
doors and windows to triumph in the flowery spoil." ' 
" But their cheefest Jewell they bring from thence is their 
Male poole whiche they bringe home with great venera- 
tion, as thus: They have twentie or fourtie yoke of oxen, 
every oxe havyng a sweete nosegaie of flowers tyed on 
the tippe of his Jiornes, and these oxen drawe home this 
Male poole." ^ Games, dances, rude dramatic perform- 
ances succeeded each other for hours, interspersed with 
feasting and drinking. An extravagant fancy sought 
expression in the excitement of grotesque actions and 
brilliant costumes. The Morris dancers executed their 
curious movements, clad in "gilt leather and silver paper, 
and sometimes in coats of white spangled fustian,"* or in 
"greene, yellow, or some other light wanton collour," 

^ Henry Peacham, " Compleat Gentleman," 1624. 
''Bourne ; Drake's "Shakespeare," vol. i, p. 153, 
' Stubbes, " Anatomie of Abuses," p. 168. 
* Douce, " Illustrations of Shakespeare." 



66 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

bedecked with " scarffs, ribbons and laces hanged all over 
with golde ringes, precious stones and other Jewells," and 
"aboute either legge twentie or fourtie belles." ' Robin 
Hood's Day, Christmas, Twelfth Night, Harvest Home, 
Sheepshearing, were all celebrated in turn with a liveliness 
of spirit, a vigor of imagination, and a noisy enjoyment of 
the good things of life which showed that Merry England 
had at last succeeded to the gloom of the Middle Ages. 

The prevailing prosperity and activity were naturally 
even more apparent in London than in the rural districts. 
The city was growing rapidly, filling up with warehouses 
and shops, with palaces and dwellings. The people in 
general were attracted to it by the growing trade and 
industry, and by the theatres, taverns, bear-gardens, and 
other places of amusement, the number of which was 
constantly increasing. The nobility and gentry sought 
the splendor of Elizabeth's court to spend their leisure 
and their wealth. The middle or commercial classes of 
the city, like the corresponding agricultural classes in 
the country, were enjoying the fruits of their industry 
and attaining a respectable position of their own. The 
houses and furniture belonging to them struck a foreigner 
with astonishment and pleasure^ : " The neate cleanli- 
nesse, the exquisite iinenesse, the plesaunte and delight- 
full furniture in every point for household wonderfully 
rejoyced mee ; their chambers and parlours, strawed over 
with sweet herbes, refreshed mee ; their nosegayes finelye 
intermingled wyth sondry sortes of fragraunte floures 
in their bed-chambers and privie roomes, with comfort- 
able smell cheered me up, and entierlye delighted all my 
senses." The profusion of expenditure, and the love of 

' Stubbes ; Drake's " Shakespeare," vol. i, ch. vi. 
* Laevinius Lemnius ; Drake, vol. 2, p. 113. 



THE COURT OF ELIZABETH. 6 J 

show resulting from the sudden increase of wealth, af- 
fected even the apprentices of the city. The Lord Mayor 
and Common Council, in 1582, found it necessary to direct 
apprentices "to wear no hat with any silk in or about the 
same. To wear no ruffes, cuffs, loose collar, nor other 
thing than a ruff at the collar, and that only a yard and a 
half long. To wear no doublets * * * enriched with 
any manner of silver or silke. ^^ * * Xo wear no 
sword, dagger, nor other weapon but a knife ; nor a ring, 
jewel of gold, nor silver, nor silke in any part of his 
apparel." ' 

It was, however, at Elizabeth's court, and among the 
nobility, that the tendencies of the time were most 
marked. The literature of this era — never surpassed in 
brilliancy and power — was the work of poets and drama- 
tists. It was the outcome of a poetical and dramatic life. 
Even the fiction which belongs to the period was colored 
by the same fondness for dramatic incident and poetic 
treatment. The enthusiasm which had animated the no- 
bility in their martial life went with them to the court of 
Elizabeth. There it showed itself in gallantry, in love of 
show, and in a devotion to amusement and to self-culti- 
vation which internal peace had at length made possible. 
Men of whom any age might be proud crowded the 
scene. Cecil and Walsingham among statesmen, Drake 
among discoverers. Bacon and Hooker among thinkers, 
Raleigh and Sidney at once among courtiers, soldiers, and 
scholars. The prevailing extravagance and variety of 
dress was simply the outward sign of a love of whatever 
was brilliant and new. The fashions of France, of Spain, 
of Turkey, even of the Moors contributed to the ward- 
robe of the English gallant. "And, as these fashions are 
' Nichol's " Progresses of Elizabeth," vul. 2, p. 394. 



68 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

diverse, so likewise it is a world to see the costlinesse and 
the curiositie : the excesse and the vanitie : the pomp and 
the braverie : the change and the varietie : and finallie 
the ficklenesse and the follie that is in all degrees : inso- 
much that nothing is more constant in England than 
inconstancie of attire." ' Each one aimed at making the 
best appearance. The long seams of men's hose were set 
by a plumb line, and beards were cut to suit the face. 
" If a man have a leane and streight face, a Marquess 
Ottons cut will make it broad and large ; it it be platter- 
like, a long, slender beard will make it seeme the narrow- 
er." "Some lustie courtiers also, and gentlemen of cour- 
age doo weare either rings of golde, stones, or pearle in 
their eares, whereby they imagine the workmanship of 
God not to be a little amended." ' All are familiar with 
the brilliant female dress of the time. The enormous 
starched ruffs of various colors, the long stomachers 
stiffened with wire and studded with jewels, the costly 
stuffs enriched with gold and silver, made up a costume 
which has never been surpassed in extravagance and fan- 
ciful exaggeration. 

The queen herself set the example of brilliancy of 
costume, and took care to be outshone by none. Sir 
John Harrington relates that " Ladie M. Howarde was 
possessede of a rich border, powderd wyth golde and 
pearle and a velvet suite belonginge thereto, which 
moved manie to envye ; nor did it please the queene, 
who thought it exceeded her owne. One daye the 
queene did sende privately, and got the ladle's rich 
vesture, which she put on herself, and came forthe the 
chamber amonge the ladies ; the kirtle and border was 

' Harrison ; Drake's " Shakespeare and his Times," vol. 2, p. 87. 
^ Harrison's "Description of England"; Holinshed, vol. I, pp. 289-90; 
Drake's " Shakespeare and his Times," vol. 2, pp. 88, 89. 



LOVE OF SHOW. 6g 

far too shorte for her majestie's lieigth ; and she asked 
everyone ' How they likede her new-fancied suit ? ' At 
length she askede the owner herself, ' If it was not made 
too shorte and ill-becoming? ' — which the poor ladie did 
presentlie consente to. ' Why, then, if it become not me, 
as being too shorte, I am minded it shall never become 
thee, as being too fine ; so it fitteth neither well.' This 
sharp rebuke abashed the ladie, and she never adorned 
, her herewith any more." ' 

It was the fashion to walk in the aisles of St. Paul's 
Church, which became a general rendezvous for business 
or pleasure. A facetious writer of the time, instructing 
a young gallant how to procure his clothes, and to show 
them off to the best advantage, gives an amusing picture 
of the prevailing vanity and foppery, " Bend your course 
directly in the middle line, that the whole body of the 
church may appear to be yours ; where, in view of all you 
may publish your suit in what manner you affect most 
* * * and then you must, as 'twere in anger, sud- 
denly snatch at the middle of the inside, if it be taffeta 
at the least ; and so, by that means, your costly lining is 
betrayed. * '"^ * But one note, by the way, do I es- 
pecially woo you to, the neglect of which makes many 
of our gallants cheap and ordinary, that by no means you 
be seen above four times ; but in the fifth make yourself 
away, either in some of the semsters' shops, the new to- 
bacco office, or among the booksellers, where, if you can- 
not read, exercise your smoke, and enquire who has writ 
against this divine weed. * * * After dinner you 
may appear again, having translated yourself out of you 
English cloth into a light Turkey grogram, if you have 
that happiness of shifting; and then be seen for a turn 
' " Nugse Antiquse "; Drake's "Shakespeare and his Times," vol. 2, p. 90. 



70 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

or two to correct your teeth with some quill or silver 
instrument, and to cleanse your gums with a wrought 
handkerchief ; it skills not whether you dined or no ; that 
is best known to your stomach ; or in what place you 
dined ; though it were with cheese of your own mother's 
making, in your chamber or study. * * * If, by chance, 
you either encounter, or aloof off throw your inquisitive 
eye upon any knight or squire, being your familiar, sa- 
lute him, not by his name. Sir such a one, or so ; but 
call him Ned, or Jack, etc. This will set off your esti- 
mation with great men ; and if, though there be a dozen 
companies between you, 'tis the better, he call aloud to 
you, for that is most genteel, to know where he shall find 
you at two o'oclock ; tell him at such an ordinary, or 
such ; and be sure to name those that are dearest, and 
whither none but your gallants resort." ' 

With all the luxury of furniture and dress, with all the 
new elegance and ceremony of court life, there naturally 
remained much disorder, violence, and coarseness 
throughout the social system. Although the laws con- 
cerning the maintenance of order in the streets were 
strict, forbidding any one even to " blowe any home in 
the night, or whistle after the hour of nyne of the clock 
in the night," yet they were not effectively enforced. A 
member of the House of Commons described a Justice 
of the Peace as an animal, who for half a dozen of chick- 
ens would dispense with a dozen penal laws^; and Gil- 
bert Talbot spoke of two serious street affrays, which he 
described in a letter to the Earl of Shrewsbury as " tri- 
fling matters."' The gallows were kept busy in town 
and country. The habits of violence, and the old fond- 

' " The Gull's Horn Book"; Drake's " Shakespeare and his Times, vol. 2, 
p. 184. 

"^ Lodge's " Illustrations." ' Idein. 



SOCIAL LIFE. yi 

ness of the nobility for fighting out their own quarrels, 
lingered in the prevalent custom of duelling. Ladies, 
and even the queen herself, chastised their servants with 
their own hands. On one occasion Elizabeth showed her 
dislike of a courtier's coat by spitting upon it, and her 
habit of administering physical correction to those who 
displeased her called forth the witty remark of Sir John 
Harrington : " I will not adventure her Highnessc choller, 
leste she shoulde collar me also." The first coach ap- 
peared in the streets of London in Elizabeth's time, and 
the sight of it "put both horse and man into amazement; 
some said it was a great crab-shell brought out of China ; 
and some imagined it to be one of the Pagan temples, in 
which the Cannibals adored the divell." The extrava- 
gance and luxury of the feasts which were given on great 
occasions by the nobility were not attended by a corre- 
sponding advance in the refinement of manners at table. 
Li a banquet given by Lord Hertford to Elizabeth in the 
garden of his castle, there were a thousand dishes carried 
out by two hundred gentlemen lighted by a hundred 
torch-bearers, and every dish was of china or silver. But 
forks had not yet come into general use, and their place 
was supplied by fingers. Elizabeth had two or three 
forks, very small, and studded with jewels, but they were 
intended only for ornament. A divine inveighed against 
the impiety of those who objected to touching their meat 
with their fingers, and it was only in the seventeenth 
century that the custom of eating with forks obtained 
general acceptance, and ceased to be considered a mark 
of foppery. 

The co-existence of coarseness and brilliant luxury, so 
characteristic of the time, is curiously apparent in the 
amusements of the city and the court. The whole 



72 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

people, from Elizabeth to the country boor, delighted in 
the savage sports of bull- and bear-baiting. In the grati- 
fication received by these exhibitions, appear the re- 
mains of the old bloodthirstiness which had once been 
only satisfied with the sight of human suffering. The 
contrast is striking when we turn to the masques, the 
triumphs, and the pageants which were exhibited on 
great occasions by the court or by the citizens of Lon- 
don. The awakening of learning and the new interest in 
life were expressed in the dramatic entertainments which 
mingled the romantic elements of chivalry with the 
mythology of ancient Greece, in the rejoicings of men 
over present prosperity and welfare. The accounts of 
the festivities during the progresses of Elizabeth, so 
ably collected by Nichol, read like a tale of fairyland. 
When the queen visited Kenelworth she was met out- 
side the gates by sybils reciting a poem of welcome. 
At the gates the giant porter feigned anger at the intru- 
sion, but, overcome by the sight of Elizabeth, laid his 
club and his keys humbly at her feet. On posts along 
the route were placed the offerings of Sylvanus, of Po- 
mona, of Ceres, of Bacchus, of Neptune, of Mars, and of 
Phoebus. From Arthur's court came the Lady of the 
Lake, begging the queen to deliver her from the Knight 
without Pity. Fawns, satyrs, and nymphs brought their 
greetings, while an Echo replied to the addresses of wel- 
come. Amusements of every variety occupied the suc- 
ceeding days. Hunting, bear-baiting, fireworks, tilting, 
Morris dances, a rustic marriage, a fight between Danes 
and English, curious' aquatic sports, — all succeeded 
each other, interspersed with brilliant feasts. Poems 
founded on the legends of Arthur, or drawn from the in- 
exhaustible sources of mythology, were recited in the 



THE ELIZABETHAN DRAMA. 73 

pauses of festivity, or sung beneath the windows of the 
queen. The same readiness of invention and luxuriance 
of fancy characterized all the celebrations of the time. 
The love of the dramatic which applauded Pyramus and 
Thisbe in the rural districts, made actors of the courtiers. 
When the French commissioners came to negotiate the 
marriage of Elizabeth with the Duke of Anjou, they 
were entertained with a triumph, in which the Earl 
of Arundel, Lord Windsor, Master Philip Sidney, and 
Master Fulk Grevil, impersonating the four " foster chil- 
dren of Desire," carried by force of arms the " Fortress 
of Beauty," which represented Elizabeth herself. 

The age of Elizabeth, although it had worked itself 
free from the intellectual sloth of the Middle Ages, 
although it was familiarizing itself with an almost un- 
known world abroad, and creating a new world at home, 
yet had inherited with little qualification the violence, 
the cruelty, and the unbridled passions of the centuries 
which had gone before. All this variety of life was ex- 
pressed in the drama, which, as a reflection of contempo- 
rary thought and manners, was to Elizabeth's time what 
the novel is to our own. Before the end of this reign 
there were eighteen theatres in London, all crowded with 
audiences which embraced every class of the people, — from 
the noble and court gallant who played cards on the 
stage, to the workmen and apprentices who fought and 
bandied coarse jests in the pit. The names of Marlowe, 
of Shakespeare, of Johnson, are sufificient to remind us of 
the grandeur to which the Elizabethan drama attained, 
under the influence of prosperity at home, victory abroad, 
and the quickening of the national intelligence which fol- 
lowed the revival of learning. But while the stage 
reflected all that was most noble, it reflected also all that 



74 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

was most base in human nature. Ecclesiastical discipline 
had been laid aside, and the unrestrained passions of 
men, which in actual life found vent in violence and 
debauchery, were gratified by the dramatic representa- 
tion of the worst crimes and most vitiated tastes. The 
Puritans brought about reformation and self-restraint, by 
enforcing a new code of morals all the more rigid from 
the looseness which on every side they found to combat. 
In closing the theatres, they were actuated, in Mr. Green's 
words, by the hatred "of God-fearing men against the 
foulest depravity presented in a poetic and attractive 
form." ' 

While the drama reflected alike the good and the bad, 
all the finer aspirations of the time found expression in 
poetry. Spenser, Sackville, Drayton, Donne, Hall, the 
two Fletchers, are but leaders in a band of more than two 
hundred, who made this period unrivalled in the annals 
of English poetry. It was a time of unexampled pros- 
perity, of an enlarged freedom, of an active intelligence, 
when men were eagerly seeking for whatever was novel 
and brilliant ; when translations without number of the 
classical writers and contemporary foreign works were 
welcomed alike with the " costly attire of the new cut, the 
Dutch hat, the French hose, the Spanish rapier, the 
Italian hilt." "It is a world to see how Englishmen 
desire to hear finer speech than the language will allow, 
to eat finer bread than is made of wheat, or wear finer 
cloth than is made of wool." Such are the words in 
which John Lyly, the Euphuist, characterized his own 
time, and they were the words of one who expressed in 
his own writings the tendency to fanciful exaggeration, 
which was so strong among the men about him. 

' Green, " Short History of the English People," p. 429. 



LVLY'S ''EUPHUES." 75 

II. 

It is to the drama that we must look for the most 
complete literary expression of the social condition of 
the period. The student of history must regret, indeed, 
that the realistic novel, with its study of human thoughts 
and motives, with its illustration of manners and cus- 
toms, so valuable in a reconstruction of the past, should 
have been delayed till the end of the seventeenth century. 
But though there be regret, there cannot be surprise. 
The reigns of Elizabeth and the Stuarts cover the period 
of court life ; when men lived in public, and sought their 
intellectual entertainment in crowds at a theatre, as now, 
in a time of citizen-life, they seek it in private, by the 
study-lamp.' In a dramatic age the creations of the 
imagination will be placed behind, the footlights, and in 
a period of quiet and reflection they will be placed be- 
tween the covers of a book. In the age of Elizabeth the 
writers of fiction neither studi'ed the characters and man- 
ners of the men about them, nor aimed at any reflec- 
tion of actual life. But their tales and romances were 
the natural fruit of their intellectual condition, and form 
an interesting if not a valuable portion of English fic- 
tion. In them are reflected the happiness, the poetry, 
the love of novelty, and the ideality of the time. The 
stirring incidents of chivalric romance were no longer in 
vogue, and the subject became an idealized love. But 
the most striking feature of Elizabethan fiction is the 
great importance attached to style. The writer cared 
more to excite admiration by the turn of his phrases and 
the ornaments of his language, than to interest his reader 
by plot or incident. 

In 1579 John Lyly published his curious romance, 

' Taine's " History of English Literature," book iii, ch. i. 



76 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

" Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit," a work which attained 
a great popularity, and made the word Euphuism an 
abstract term in the language to express the ornate and 
antithetical style of which this book is the most marked 
example. In Lyly's own day it was said by Edward 
Blount that the nation was "in his debt for a new Eng- 
lish which hee taught them." Since then, the verdict of 
posterity has been that Lyly corrupted the public taste, 
and introduced an affected and overloaded manner of 
writing which had a mischievous influence upon litera- 
ture. A careful examination of Lyly's work, and of the 
condition of the English language in the last quarter of 
the sixteenth century, will not sustain either of these 
views. The Euphuistic style was not of Lyly's inven- 
tion. He acquired Jt from the men about him, and 
merely gave it, through his writings, a distinct character 
and individuality. In a letter of Elizabeth to her brother 
Edward VI, long before " Euphues " was written, occurs 
the following passage : " Like as a shipman in stormy 
wether plukes down the sails tarrying for bettar winde, 
so did I, most noble kinge, in my unfortunate chanche a 
Thursday pluk downe the hie sailes of my joy and com- 
forte, and do trust one day that as troublesome waves 
have repulsed me backwarde, so a gentil winde will bringe 
me forwarde to my haven." ' This is a moderate speci- 
men of the ornate and exaggerated language v/hich was 
following the new acquisitions of learning and intelli- 
gence, just as extravagance in dress and food was follow- 
ing the new prosperity and wealth. Men wished to 
crowd their learning and cultivation into every thing 
they said or wrote. As the language was not yet settled 
by good prose writers, the more affected a style, the 
' Nichol's " Progresses," vol. i, p. 3. 



EUPHUISM. yj 

more numerous its similes, and far-fetched its allusions, 
the more ingenious and admirable it was considered to be. 
There resulted a sacrifice of clearness and simplicity to a 
strained elegance. Still, in the Euphuistic style, tedious 
and grotesque as it often is, appear the first serious 
efforts, among English prose writers, to attain a better 
mode of expression. The results which followed the 
absence of a standard written language at home were 
strengthened by the general acquaintance with foreign 
literature. Italy in the sixteenth century was the lead- 
ing intellectual nation, and the example of the refined 
and over-polished manner of writing there prevalent had 
much to do with the growth in England of a fondness 
for affected mannerisms and fancied ornaments of lan- 
guage. The new ideas in regard to poetry and versifica- 
tion which Wyat and Surrey had brought from Italy, 
were but the beginning of an extensive Italian influence. 
It was not without reason that Ascham inveighed against 
"the enchantments of Circe brought out of Italy to mar 
men's manners in England." Italian works were trans- 
lated and circulated in great numbers in England, 
• and among these the most popular were the gay and 
amorous productions oi the story-tellers.' 

Born in Kent in 1554, John Lyly studied at Magdalen 
College, Oxford, and received the degree of Master of 

'The Italian tales were issued in various collections, such as Painter's 
"Palace of Pleasure," Whetstone's " Heptameron," the "Histories" of 
Goulard and Grimstone. One of the best of these collections is " Westward 
for Smells," by Kinde Kit of Kingstone, circa 1603, reprinted by the Percy 
Society. It is on the same plan as Boccaccio's " Decamerone," except that 
the story-tellers are fish-wives going up the Thames in a boat. Imitations of 
the Italian tales may be found in Hazlitt's " Shakespeare's Library," notably 
" Romeo and Julietta." Most of these are modernized versions of old tales. 
I may here add, as undeserving further mention, such stories as " Jacke of 
Dover's Quest of Inquirie," 1601, Percy Soc; " A Search for Money," by 
William Rowley, dramatist, 1609, Percy Soc; and "The Man in the 
Moone, or the English Fortune-Teller," 1609, Percy Soc. 



78 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Arts. Not a very diligent scholar, he disliked the 
" crabbed studies " of logic and philosophy, " his genie 
being naturally bent to the pleasant paths of poetry," 
but he was reputed at the University as afterward at 
Elizabeth's court, " a rare poet, witty, comical, and face- 
tious." During his life in London he produced a number 
of plays and poems which have given his name a not 
inconsiderable place in the list of Elizabethan poets and 
dramatists. He is now best known, where known at all, 
by his prose work " Euphues," which was so much ad- 
mired at Elizabeth's court, that all the ladies knew his 
phrases by heart, and to " parley Euphuism " was a sign 
of breeding. For many years Lyly lingered about the 
court waiting for a promised position to reward his labors 
and support his declining years. But in vain, "A thou- 
sand hopes," he complained, "but all nothing; a hundred 
promises, but yet nothing." Lyly died in 1606, leaving, 
as he said, but three legacies : " Patience to my creditors, 
Melancholic without measure to my friends, and Beggarie 
without shame to my family." 

The deeper meaning of Lyly's work, which lies be- 
neath the surface of his similes and antitheses, has es- 
caped almost all his critics.* It is suggested by the title, 
" Euphues, The Anatomy of Wit." In the " School- 
master," Ascham explained how Socrates had described 
the anatomy of wit in a child, and the first essential 
quality mentioned by Socrates, and that most fully dis- 
cussed by Ascham was Evcpvi]^, which may be translated 
of good natural parts, as well of the body as the mind. 
Euphues, then, as well in the story in which he figures, 
as afterward in the essays of which he is the supposed 

'The most comprehensive remarks on Lyly and "Euphues" are to be 
found in the Lojtdon Quarterly Review for April, 1S61, and are due to Mr. 
Henry Morley. 



EUPHUES. 79 

author, is the model of a young man at once attractive 
in appearance, and possessing the mental qualities most 
calculated to please. While the story is meant to attract 
readers, the essays and digressions introduced into the 
work are intended to inculcate the methods of education 
which Lyly taught in common with Ascham. It was, 
however, the manner rather than the matter which gave 
to " Euphues " its prominence and popularity. The story 
is but a slender thread. Euphues and Philautus are two 
young gentlemen of Naples, bound together by the 
closest ties of friendship. Philautus is deeply enamored 
of a lady named Lucilla, to whom in an unfortunate 
moment he presents Euphues. The meeting is at sup- 
per, and the conversation turns on the question " often 
disputed, but never determined, whether the qualities of 
the minde, or the composition of the man, cause women 
most to lyke, or whether beautie or wit move men 
most to love." Euphues shows so much ingenuity in 
the discussion of this interesting subject that Lucilla 
transfers her affections to him. Upon this the two 
friends quarrel and exchange letters of mutual recrimina- 
tion couched in the most elaborate language. Philautus 
writes: 

Although hetherto Euphues, I have shrined thee in my 
heart for a trustie friende, I will shunne thee heerafter as a 
trothless foe. * * * Dost thou not know yat a perfect 
friend should be lyke the Glazeworme, which shineth most 
bright in the darke ? or lyke the pure Frankencense which 
smelleth most sweet when it is in the fire ? or at the leaste not 
unlike to the damaske Rose which i^ sweeter in the still then 
on the stalke ? But thou, Euphues, dost rather resemble the 
Swallow, which in the summer creepeth under the eues of euery 
house, and in the winter leaveth nothing but durt behinde hir ; 



80 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

or the humble Bee, which hauing sucked hunny out of the 
fayre flower, doth leaue it and loath it ; or the Spider which in 
the finest web doth hang the fayrest Fly. 

To these bitter reproaches Euphues replies that " Love 
knoweth no Lawes," and in support of the proposition 
cites as many cases from mythology as he can remember. 
The faithless Lucilla, however, soon treats Euphues as 
she had before treated Philautus, and marrries a third 
lover whom they both despise. The friends are then 
once more united, and lament in each other's arms the 
folly of Lucilla. A second part of the work appeared in 
the following year, in which Euphues and Philautus are 
represented on a visit to England. Philautus marries, 
and Euphues, after eulogizing the English government, 
Elizabeth, and all her court, retires forever " to the bot- 
tom of the mountain Silexedra." 

The educational essays dispersed throughout the book 
display a good sense which even Lyly's style cannot con- 
ceal. Ascham and Lyly were alone in deprecating the 
excessive use of the rod, and in so doing were far in ad- 
vance of the age. Cruelty seems to have been a common 
characteristic of the school-teacher. " I knew one," said 
Peacham, " who in winter would ordinarily in a cold 
morning whip his boyes over for no other purpose than 
to get himself a heat ; another beat them for swearing, 
and all the time he swears himself with horrible oathes 
that he would forgive any fault save that. * * * Yet 
these are they that oftentimes have our hopefull gentry 
under their charge and tuition, to bring them (up) in 
science and civility." ' 

The style which proved so attractive to Elizabeth's 

' Henry Peacham, " Compleat Gentleman." See Drake's " Shakespeare 
and his Times." 



, THE EUPHUISTIC STYLE. 8 1 

courtiers had three principal characteristics, which the 
reader will perceive in the extracts hereafter to be given 
— a pedantic exhibition of learning, an excess of similes 
drawn from natural history, usually untrue to nature, 
and a habit of antithesis, which, by constant repetition 
becomes exceedingly wearisome. Euphues, wishing to 
convince his listeners of the inferiority of outward tos 
inward perfection, pursues the following argument : 

The foule Toade hath a fayre stone in his head, the fine 
golde is found in the filthy earth ; the sweet kernell lyeth in 
the hard shell : vertue is harboured in the heart of him that 
most men esteeme misshappen. Contrariwise, if we respect 
more the outward shape, then the inward habit, good God, into 
how many mischiefes do wee fall ? into what blindnesse are we 
ledde ? Doe we not commonly see that in painted pottes is 
hidden the deadlyest poyson ? that in the greenest graase is ye 
greatest serpent ? in the cleerest water the vgliest Toade ? 
Doth not experience teach vs, that in the most curious sepul- 
cher are enclosed rotten bones ? That the Cypresse tree bear- 
eth a faire leafe, but no fruite ? That the Estridge carrieth 
faire feathers, but ranke flesh ? How frantick are those louers 
which are carried away with the gaye glistering of the fine face ? 

" In the coldest flint," says Lucilla, " there is hot fire, the 
Bee that hath hunny in hir mouth, hath a sting in hir tayle ; 
the tree that beareth the sweetest fruite, hath a sower sap ; yea, 
the wordes of men though they seeme smooth as oyle : yet 
their heartes are as crooked as the stalke of luie." 

Lyly's antithetical style is well illustrated by the fol- 
lowing passage, in which he means to be particularly 
serious and impressive : 

If I should talke in words of those things which I haue to 
conferre with thee in writinges, certes thou would blush for 



82 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

shame, and I weepe for sorrowe : neither could my tongue vt- 
ter yat with patience, which my hand can scarse write with 
modesty, neither could thy ears heare that without glowing, 
which thine eyes can hardly vewe without griefe. Ah, Alcius, 
I cannot tell whether I should most lament in thee thy want of 
learning, or thy wanton lyvinge, in the on thou art inferiour to 
all men, in the other superiour to al beasts. Insomuch as 
who seeth thy dul wit, and marketh thy froward will, may well 
say that he neuer saw smacke of learning in thy dooings, nor 
sparke of relygion in thy life. Thou onely vauntest of thy 
gentry : truely thou wast made a gentleman before thou knew- 
est what honesty meant, and no more hast thou to boast of thy 
stocke, than he, who being left rich by his father, dyeth a beg- 
gar by his folly, Nobilitie began in thine auncestors and endeth 
in thee, and the generositie that they gayned by vertue, thou 
hast blotted with vice.' 

The popularity of " Euphues " excited much imitation, 
and its influence is strongly marked in the works of Robert 
Greene. Born in Norfolk in 1560, Greene studied at 
Cambridge and received the degree of Master of Arts. 
After wasting his property in Italy and Spain, he re- 
turned to London to earn his bread by the pen. As a 
pamphleteer, as a poet, and especially as a dramatist, 
Greene achieved a considerable reputation. But his im- 
provident habits and a life of constant debauchery 

' Shakespeare ridiculed the affectations of contemporary language in 
" Love's Labour Lost." Among the characters of Ben Jonson are some 
good Euphuists. In " Every Man out of his Humour," Fallace says (act. 
V, sc. x), " O, Master Brisk, as 'tis said in Euphues, Hard is the choice, 
when one is compelled, either by silence to die with grief, or by speaking to 
live with shame." In " The Monastery," a novel which the author himself 
considered a failure. Sir Walter Scott represented a Euphuist. But the 
language of Sir Piercie Shafton is entirely devoid of the characteristics of 
Euphuism, and gives a very false impression concerning it. (See intro- 
duction to " The Monastery.") Compare passages quoted in the text with 
one in chap, xiv (" Monastery") beginning : " Ah, that I had with me my 
Anatomy of Wit." Also passim. 



GREENE'S "ARCADIA." 83 

brought his career to a close, amidst poverty and remorse, 
at the early age of 'thirty-two. He died in a drunken 
brawl, leaving in his works the evidence of talents and 
qualities which the degradation of his life had failed to 
destroy. 

Greene's "Arcadia" was published in 1587, and bears in 
its fanciful title of " Camilla's Alarum to Slumber Eupliu- 
es," the evidence of its inspiration. Even among pastorals 
the improbability of this story is surpassing. Damocles, 
king of Arcadia, banished his daughter with her husband 
and son. Sephestia, the daughter, arrived in a part of 
Arcadia entirely inhabited by shepherds. There she be- 
comes a shepherdess under the name of Samela, and 
meets her husband, Maximus, who is already tending sheep 
in the same neighborhood with the name of Melicertus. 
Strange to say, Sephestia fails to recognize her husband, 
and receives his addresses as a favored lover. Soon after, 
Pleusidippus, Sephestia's son, is stolen by pirates, and 
adopted by the king of Thessaly, in whose court he grows 
up. The fame of Sephestia's beauty reaches her father 
and her son, who, ignorant of the relationship in conse- 
quence of Sephestia's change of name, both set out to 
woo the celebrated shepherdess. The repulsive scene of 
the same woman being the object at once of the passion 
of her father and her son is ended by Damocles carrying 
off Sephestia to his own court, where he proposes to ex- 
ecute Maximus as his successful rival, and Sephestia for 
her obstinate refusal of his addresses. The Delphian ora- 
cle, however, interposes in time by declaring the identity 
of Sephestia, and the story terminates as usual in wed- 
dings and reconciliations. 

The conventional shepherd's life is well described in the 
" Arcadia," and the pastoral tone is skilfully maintained. 



84 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTIOA. 

The language, however, is confessedly euphuistic, as 
may be seen by the author's comment on a speech of 
Samela : 

Samela made this reply, because she had heard him so su- 
perfine, as if Ephebus had learned him to refine his mother's 
tongue ; wherefore though he had done it of an ink horn de- 
sire to be eloquent, and Melicertus thinking Samela had learned 
with Lucilla in Athens to anatomize wit, and speak none but 
similes, imagined she smoothed her talk to be thought like 
Sappho, Phaon's paramour. 

The following passage could hardly be distinguished 
from the writings of Lyly : 

I had thought, Menaphon, that he which weareth the bay 
leaf had been free from lightning, and the eagle's pen a pre- 
servative against thunder ; that labour had been enemy to 
love, and the eschewing of idleness an antidote against fancy ; 
but I see by proof, there is no adamant so hard, but the blood 
of a goat will make soft, no fort so well defenced, but strokg 
battery will entry, nor any heart so pliant to restless labours, 
but enchantments of love will overcome. 

Melicertus addresses Samela, whom he finds feeding 
her flocks, in the following terms : 

Mistress of all eyes that glance but at the excellence of your 
perfection, sovereign of all such as Venus hath allowed for 
lovers, CEnone's over-match, Arcadia's comet, Beauty's second 
comfort, all hail ! Seeing you sit like Juno when she first 
watched her white heifer on the Lincen downs, as bright as 
silver Phoebe mounted on the high top of the ruddy element, I 
was, by a strange attractive force, drawn, as the adamant 
draws the iron, or the jet the straw, to visit your sweet self in 
the shade, and afford you such company as a poor swain may 



GREENE'S '' PANDOSTO." 85 

yield without offense ; which, if you shall vouch to deign of, I 
shall be as glad of such accepted service, as Paris was first of 
his best beloved paramour. 

Another of Samela's lovers, despairing of success, " be- 
came sick for anger, and spent whole eclogues in an- 
guish." I-- 

Greene's story of " Pandosto," or "Dorastus and 
Fawnia," which attained a great popularity, and went 
through at least fourteen editions, is well known as the 
foundation of Shakespeare's " Winter's Tale." Shake- 
speare has followed Greene in the material points of the 
story, even so far as to make Bohemia a maritime coun- 
try. But the genius of the dramatist is manifest in the 
miraculous and happy ending which he substitutes for 
the unlawful love and inconsistent suicide of Pandosto in 
the work of Greene. Shakespeare borrowed from the text, 
as well as from the plot of the novelist. The lines, 

The gods themselves, 
Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellowed ; the green Nfeptune 
A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-robed god, 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 
As I seem now, — 

are evidently a reproduction of the soliloquy of Dorastus: 

And yet Dorastus, shame not at thy shepheard s weede : The 
heavenly Godes have sometime earthly tlioughts : Neptune 
became a ram, Jupiter a bul, Apollo a shepheard : they Gods, 
and yet in love ; and thou a man appointed to love.' 

'The lines quoted from the "Winter's Tale" are in act iv, sc. 3. For 
Greene's words see "Dorastus and Fawnia," in Hazlitt's " Shakespeare's 
Library," part i, vol. 4, p. 62. The resemblance between the two pas- 
sages is pointed out by Dunlop (" History of Fiction," p. 404). Collier in 



86 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

The story of " Philomela," " penned to approve women's 
chastity," is the best of Greene's tales, and approaches 
more closely the modern novel than any work of the time. 
It is related with much less than the usual prolixity, and 
contains two characters of distinct individuality. The 
scene is placed in Venice, partly in consequence of the 
Italian origin of the story, and partly, it would seem, be- 
cause writers of fiction imagined that the further distant 
they could represent their incidents to have occurred, the 
more interest and probability would attach to them. 
Philippo Medici possessed a wife Philomela, renowned, 
" not for her beauty, though Italy afforded none so fair — 
not for her dowry, though she were the only daughter of 
the Duke of Milan — but for the admirable honours of 
her mind, which were so many and matchless, that virtue 
seemed to have planted there the paradise of her perfec- 
tion." Philippo was so prone to jealousy, that he suspected 
even this paragon, and worked himself into a belief in her 
infidelity by such euphuisms as these: "The greener the 
Alisander leaves be, the more bitter is the sap, and the 
salamander is the most warm when he lieth furthest from 
the fire," therefore "women are most heart-hollow, when 
they are most lip-holy." Inflamed by this reasoning, he 
induced a friend, one Lutesio, to attempt his wife's virtue, 
enjoining him to bring immediate information in case of 
any evidence of success. Lutesio, after some misgivings, 
undertook the task, and under the influence of Philo- 
mela's beauty, found it a very agreeable one. His most 
elaborate discourses on love in the abstract were met by 
Philomela with replies fully as long and fully as lofty, 

his introduction to " Dorastus and Favvnia " denied this obligation of 
Shakespeare to Greene. But he was evidently led into this error by taking 
Ihe following passage, instead of the one quoted in the text, for the founda- 
tion of Shakespeare's lines : " The gods above disdaine not to love women 
beneatne. Phoebus liked Sibilla; Jupiter lo ; and why not I, then, Fa.wnia ? '' 



PHILOMELA. 87 

but when he made the conversation personal, and de- 
clared his attitude to be that of a lover, he was met with 
a virtuous indignation which fully bore out the reputation 
of Philomela. Even this conclusive test did not satisfy 
the jealous mind of the wretched Philippo. Having 
hired two slaves to swear in court to his wife's infidelity, 
he procured her banishment to Palermo. By the efforts 
of the Duke of Milan, this infamous proceeding was 
finally exposed, and Philippo, overcome by remorse, set 
out in search of Philomela. At Palermo, he accused him- 
self, in a fit of despair, of a murder which had been com- 
mitted in that city. But while the trial was in progress, 
Philomela, in order to shield her husband, appeared in 
court and proclaimed herself guilty of the crime. The 
innocence of both was discovered. Philippo, as he de- 
served, died immediately in an " ecstacy," and Philomela 
" returned home to Venice, and there lived the desolate 
widow of Philippo Medici all her life ; which constant 
chastity made her so famous, that in her life she was 
honoured as the paragon of virtue, and after her death, 
solemnly, and with wonderful honour, entombed in St. 
Mark's Church, and her fame holden canonized until this 
day in Venice." 

The character of Philomela possesses strong traits of 
feminine virtue and wifely fidelity. Philippo has little 
distinctiveness except in his extreme susceptibility to 
jealousy — a fault which was exaggerated by the author to 
set off the opposite qualities of Philomela. The story has 
no little merit in regard to the construction and sequence 
of the narrative, and holds up to admiration a high moral 
excellence. But its interest is seriously impaired by the 
same defect which marks all the fiction of the time. 
Philomela is almost the only tale which makes any pretence 



88 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION, 

to being a description of actual life, or which deals with 
possible incidents. Yet the language, although it has 
some elegance, is so affectedly formal, that all sense of 
reality is destroyed. When Philippo's treachery to his 
wife is discovered, and he himself is plunged in remorse, 
it is in such words as these that he speaks of his ex- 
posure : " There is nothing so secret but the date of 
days will reveal ; that as oil, though it be moist, quench- 
eth not fire, so time, though ever so long, is no sure covert 
for sin ; but as a spark raked up in cinders will at last 
begin to glow and manifest a flame, so treachery hidden 
in silence will burst forth and cry for revenge." * 

A prose idyl is the term which best describes the 
courtly and pastoral character of Lodge's " Rosalynde," 
the last work of fiction of any importance which distinctly 
bears the impress of euphuism. Published in 1590, the ten 
editions through which it passed during the next fifty years 
are sufficient evidence of its popularity. It is probably 
the only work of fiction of Elizabeth's time which could 
be read through at the present day without impatience, 
and its story and personages are well known to all 
through their reproduction in Shakespeare's "As You 
Like it." The author of " Rosalynde " was a man of very 
varied talents and experience. The son, it is believed, of 
a Lord Mayor of London, he graduated at Trinity Col- 
lege, Oxford, and followed successively the professions 
of an actor, soldier, lawyer, and physician. In the inter- 
vals of these occupations, he found time to join in two 
privateering expeditions to the Pacific, and to publish a 
number of literary productions, of which the most suc- 
cessful were dramas and poems. He is thought to have 
died of the plague in 1625. 

' Another of Greene's tales, possessing much the same merits and the 
same defects as those already mentioned, is " Never too Late." 



* LODGE'S "EOSALYNDE." 89 

" ROSALYNDE. EUPHUES' GOLDEN LeGACIE: Found 
after his death in his cell at Silexedra, Bequeathed to 
Philaiitiis sonnes nursed up zvith their Father iji England. 
Fetched from the Canaries by T. L., Genty Such is the 
fanciful title of the story which Shakespeare transformed 
into " As You Like it." In the comedy, the characters 
of Touchstone, Audrey, and Jacques are added, but other- 
wise the dramatist has followed his original quite closely. 
He made use, not infrequently, of the language as well as 
the incidents of Lodge, which in itself is sufficient praise, 
"Rosalynde," is, indeed, a charming tale, containing agree- 
able and well-drawn characters, dramatic incidents, and 
written in an elevated strain of dignity and purity. Oc- 
casionally, the influence of " Euphues " is manifest : — " Un- 
happy Saladyne, whom folly hath led to these misfortunes, 
and wanton desires wrapt within the laborinth of these 
calamities. Are not the heavens doomers of men's 
deedes ? And holdes not God a ballance in his fist, to re- 
ward with favour and revenge with justice? Oh, Saladyne, 
the faults of thy youth, as they were fond, so were they 
foule ; and not onely discovering little nourture, but 
blemishing the excellence of nature." 

A more natural and attractive passage is the discussion 
between Rosalynde and Alinda,' regarding their escape 
from court. 

Rosalynde began to comfort her, and after shee had wept a 
fewe kinde teares in the bosome of her Alinda, she gave her 
heartie thankes, and then they sat them downe to consult how 
they should travel. Alinda grieved at nothing but they might 
have no man in their company ; saying it would be their great- 
est prejudice in that two women went wandering without either 

' Shakespeare's Celia. 



90 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

guide or attendant. Tush (quoth Rosalynde), art thou a woman 
and hast not a sodeine shift to prevent a misfortune ? I, 
thou seest, am of a tall stature, and would very wel become the 
person and apparel of a Page : thou shalt bee my mistresse, 
and 1 wil play the man so properly, that (trust me) in what 
company so ever I come I will not be discovered : I wil buy 
me a suite, and have my Rapier very handsomely at my side, 
and if any knave offer wrong, your Page wil shew him the 
poynt of his weapon." 

Shakespeare has followed this scene very closely in "As 
You Like It." 

Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, 

Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ! 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. I '11 put myself in poor and mean attire. 

And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
The like do you ; so shall we pass along 
And never stir assailants. 

/ Were it not better, 

Because that I am more than common tall, 
Thit 1 did suit me all points like a man ? 
A gallant curtle-axc upon my thigh, 
A boar spear in my hand ; and in my heart, 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will, — 
We '11 have a swashing and a martial outside, 
As many other mannish cowards have 
That do outface it with their semblances.' 

The most brilliant and characteristic work of fiction 
belonging to the Elizabethan era was composed by a man 
who was himself regarded by his contemporaries as the 
embodiment of all the qualities they most loved and ad- 
mired. During the three hundred years which have 

' Act i, sc. 3. 



S//^ PHILIP SIDNEY. 9 1 

elapsed since the death of Sir Philip Sidney, the same 
enthusiastic praise has accompanied the mention of his 
name. Sir William Temple, writing in a critical time, 
and when the effect of Sidney's personal character need 
no longer have biassed a literary judgment, pronounced 
Sir Philip to be " the greatest poet and the noblest 
genius of any that have left writings behind them." ' Such 
were the words of a man of genius, who was acquainted 
with the works of Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Spenser. 
While all admirers of Sidney must regret a praise of his 
literary abilities so exaggerated and mistaken, the eulo- 
gies which have been lavished upon his personal charac- 
ter have never been thought to surpass the worth of 
their object. Sir Philip Sidney, in the short life allotted 
to him, had added to his personal beauty and amiable 
disposition all that was most fitted to win the admiration 
of his time. His rare accomplishments, his chivalrous 
manners and unusual powers of conversation made him 
so great a favorite at court, that it was the pride of Eliz- 
abeth to call him "her Philip." A considerable knowl- 
edge of military affairs, and a fearless gallantry in battle, 
combined, with Sidney's genial disposition, to win for him 
the universal affection of the army. The violence of the 
Middle Ages lingers in Sir Philip's angry words to his 
father's secretary : " Mr. Molyneux, if ever I know you to 
do so much as read any letter I write to my father, with- 
out his commandment or my consent, I will thrust my 
dagger into you. And trust to it, for I speak it in earn- 
est." But the spirit of generosity and self-sacrifice, 
which we are also accustomed to associate with mediaeval 
knighthood, was realized in the famous scene on the bat- 
tle-field before Zutphen. With good natural talents and 

' " Miscellanea," part ii, essay iv. 



92 HIS TOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION-. 

an untiring industry, Sir Philip acquired a knowledge of 
science, of languages, and of literature, which gave him a 
leputation abroad as well as at home. The learned Lan- 
guet relinquished his regular duties without prospect of 
pecuniary reward " to be a nurse of knowledge to this 
hopeful young gentleman," ' The regrets of the univer- 
sities at Sidney's death filled three volumes with aca- 
demic eulogies. But a better testimony than these vol- 
umes to the general admiration for Sidney's talents, and 
to his position as a patron of literature, is to be found in 
the beautiful lines in which Spenser lamented his benefac- 
tor, and in two sentences by poor Tom Nash,^ M'ho knew 
but too well the value of what he and his fellow-laborers 
had lost : " Gentle Sir Philip Sidney, thou knewest what 
belonged to a scholar ; thou knewest what pains, what 
toil, what travel conduct to perfection ; well could'st 
thou give every virtue his encouragement, every art his 
due, every writer his desert, cause none more virtuous, 
witty, or learned than thyself. But thou art dead in thy 
grave, and has left too few successors of thy glory, too 
few to cherish the sons of the Muses, or water those bud- 
ding hopes with their plenty, which thy bounty erst 
planted." The public manifestations of grief at Sidney's 
death, and the rivalry of two nations for the possession 
of his remains, seem to have proceeded rather from the 
fame of his personal virtues than from the accomplish- 
ment of great achievements. It was recorded on the 
tomb of the learned Dr. Thornton that he had been " the 
tutor of Sir Philip Sidney," and Lord Brooke caused the 
inscription to be placed over his own grave : " Fulke 
Greville, servant to Queen Elizabeth, counsellor to King 
James, and friend to Sir Philip Sidney." 

' Gray's " Life of Sidney," p. 8. ' " Pierce Penniless." 



THE ''ARCADIA." 93 

The work of a man who belonged so thoroughly to his 
own time, and who united in himself talents and virtues 
so remarkable could hardly fail to be of historical in- 
terest. Such is the value now belonging to the "Arcadia" 
— a work unrivalled in its own day, and deserving the 
admiration of the present, but which has been left behind 
in the great advance of English prose fiction. In the 
courtly pages of the "Arcadia" are brilliantly reflected 
the lofty strain of sentiment characteristic of Elizabeth's 
time, and the chivalry, the refinement, and the impetu- 
osity of its noble author. " Heere have you now," 
wrote Sir Philip to his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, 
" most deare, and most worthy to be most deare 
Ladie, this idle worke of mine. * ^^ * Youre 
deare self can best witnesse the manner, being done 
in loose sheetes of paper, most of it in your pres- 
ence, the rest by sheetes sent unto you, as fast as they 
were done." It would be tedious to the reader to re- 
ceive a detailed description of the story which extends 
through the four hundred and eighty pages of Sidney's 
folio. The plot turns on the fulfilment of a Delphian 
prophecy, in fear of which Basilius, king of Arcadia, re- 
tires to a forest with his wife and two daughters. One 
daughter, Philoclea, lives with her father Basilius, and 
the other, Pamela, is confided to the care of Dametas, a 
country feUow, in the service of Basilius, who lives close 
by with his wife. Pyrocles, prince of Macedon, and 
Musidorus, prince of Thessaly, are wrecked on the coast 
of Arcadia, where they soon become enamored of the two 
daughters of Basilius. To the better attainment of their 
ends, Pyrocles obtains admittance to the house of Bas- 
ilius in the disguise of an Amazon, and Musidorus enters 
the service of Dametas in the character of a shepherd. 



94 HISTOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION: 

The story which is unrolled in the remainder of the work 
relates the extraordinary occurrences which are necessary 
to the fulfilment of the Delphian prophecy, together with 
the intrigues and adventures of the young lovers. Ship- 
wrecks, attacks by pirates, rescues, journeys through 
Arcadia among poetic shepherds, a war with the Helots, 
adventures chivalric and amorous, lovers wandering 
through forests and carving sonnets on trees, — such are 
the scenes which succeed each other with unending 
variety. On the arrival of Pyrocles and Musidorus in 
Arcadia, the reader is introduced to that ideal land, 
never more happily described than by Sidney's pen ' : 

The third day after, in the time that the Morning did strow 
roses and violets in the heavenly floore against the coraming of 
the sunne, the Nightingales, (striving one with the other which 
could in most daintie varietie recount their wrong caused sor- 
row,) made them put off their sleepe, and rising from under a 
tree, (which that night had bin their pavillion,) they went on 
their journey, which by and by welcomed Musidorus eies 
(wearied with the wasted soile of Laconia) with delightfull 
prospects. There were hills which garnished their proud 
heights with stately trees : humble vallies, whose base estate 
seemed comforted with the refreshing of silver rivers : 
medowes, enameled with all sorts of eie-pleasing flowers : 
thickets, which being lined with most pleasant shade, were wit- 
nessed so too, by the cheerful! disposition of manie well-tuned 
birds : each pasture stored with sheep feeding with sober 
securitie, while the prettie lambes with bleating oratorie craved 
the dammes comfort : here a shepheards boy piping, as though 
he should never be old : there a young shepheardesse knitting, 
£lnd withall singing, and it seemed that her voice comforted 
her hands to worke, and her hands kept time to her voice's 

* Folio, 1622, p. 6. 



THE ''ARCADIA." 95 

musick. As for the houses of the countrey, (for manie houses 
came under their eye,) they were all scattered, no two being 
one by th' other, and yet not so farre off as that it barred 
mutuall succour : a shew, as it were, of an accompanable soli- 
tarinesse, and of a civill wildeness. 

Amid such scenes dwell Basilius and his wife, whose 
two daughters are described by Sidney in language un- 
surpassed for delicacy and charm. 

Of these two are brought to the world two daughters, so be- 
yond measure excellent in all the gifts allotted to reasonable 
creatures, that we may thinke they were borne to shew, that 
nature is no stepmother to that sexe, how much so ever some 
men (sharp witted onely in evill speaking) have sought to dis- 
grace them. The elder is named Pamela, by many men not 
deemed inferiour to her sister : for my part, when I marked 
them both, me thought there was, (if at least such perfections 
may receive the word of more,) more sweetness in Philoclea, 
but more majestic in Pamela : mee thought love plaied in Phil- 
oclea's eies, & threatened in Pamela's ; me thought Philoclea's 
beautie only perswaded, but so perswaded that all hearts must 
yield ; Pamela's beautie used violence, and such violence as 
no heart could resist. And it seems that such proportion is 
betweene their mindes : Philoclea so bashfull, as though her 
excellencies had stolne into her before she was aware, so hum- 
ble, that she will put all pride out of countenance ; in summe, 
such proceeding as will stirre hope, but teach hope good man- 
ers. Pamela of high thoughts, who avoids not pride with not 
knowing her excellencies, but by my making that one of her 
excellencies to be void of pride ; her mother's wisdome, great- 
nesse, nobilitie, but (if I can guesse aright) knit with a more 
constant temper.' 

The description of an envious man in the second book," 
' Folio, 1622, p. 10, ' Folio, p. 130. 



96 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

which suggested to Sir Richard Steele his essay in the 
nineteenth number of the Spectator, is another good ex- 
ample of Sidney's ability in delineating character. . The 
passage in which Musidorus is represented showing off the 
paces of his horse/ a subject especially adapted to excite 
the best effort of the author, is a very remarkable effort 
of descriptive power, for the insei'tion of which, unfortu- 
nately, space is wanting here. Sidney might have quoted 
his description of Pamela sewing, to justify his belief that 
"It is not rhyming and versing that maketh poesy": — 

Pamela, who that day having wearied her selfe with read- 
ing, * * * was working upon a purse certaine roses and 
lillies. * * * The flowers shee had wrought caried such 
life in them, that the cunningest painter might have learned of 
her needle : which, with so pretty a manner, made his careers 
to & fro through the cloth, as if the needle it selfe would haue 
been loth to haue gone fromward such a mistresse, but that it 
hoped to returne thitherward very quickly againe ; the cloth 
looking with many eyes vpon her, and louingly embracing the 
wounds she gaue it : the sheares also were at hand to behead 
the silke that was growne too short. And if at any time shee 
put her mouth to bite it off, it seemed, that where she had 
beene long in making of a rose with her hands, she would in 
an instant make roses with her lips ; as the lillies seemed to 
haue their whitenesse rather of the hand that made them, than 
of the matter whereof they were made ; & that they grew there 
by the suns of her eyes_, and were refreshed by the most * * * 
comfortable ayre, which an unawares sigh might bestow upon 
them.'^ 

Charles I, passed many hours of his prison life in read- 
ing the "Arcadia," and Milton^ accused him of stealing a 

'Foho, p. 115. ^ Folio, p, 260. 

^.See an "Answer to ' Eikon Basilike,'" Milton's works, Symmons' ed., 
V. 2, p. 408. 



THE "ARCADIA:' 97 

prayer of Pamela to insert in the " Eikon Basilike " : 
*' And that in no serious book, but the vain amatorious 
poem of Sir Philip Sidney's 'Arcadia' ; a book in that 
kind, full of worth and wit, but among religious thoughts 
and duties not worthy to be named ; nor to be read at 
any time without good caution, much less in time of 
trouble and affliction to be a Christian's prayerbook."( 
This prayer is in itself so beautiful, coming from the lips 
of Pamela, and the greater part of it suits so perfectly 
the unhappy circumstances of King Charles, that at the 
risk of unduly multiplying our extracts from the " Ar- 
cadia," it will be inserted here: — 

And therewith kneeling downe, eueh where shee stood, she 
thus said : O All-seeing Light,' and eternall Life of all things, 
to whom nothing is either so great, that it may resist ; or so 
small, that it is condemned : looke vpon my misery with thine 
eye of mercie,> and let thine infinite power vouchsafe to limite 
out some proportion of deliuerance vnto me, as to thee shall 
seeme most conuenient. Let not injurie, O Lord, triumph ouer 
me, and let my faults by thy hand bee corrected, and make not 
mine vnjust enemy the minister of thy justice. But yet, my 
God, if in thy wisdome this be the aptest chastisement for my 
vnexcusable folly : if this low bondage be fittest to my ouer- 
high desires : if the pride of my not inough humble heart be 
thus to be broken, O Lord I yeeld vnto thy will, and joyfully 
embrace what sorrow thou will haue mee suffer, Onely thus 
much let me craue of thee, (let my crauing, O Lord, be accepted 
of thee, since euen that proceeds from thee,) let me craue, euen 
by the noblest title, which in my greatest affliction I may give 
myselfe, that I am thy creature, and by thy goodnesse (which 
is thyselfe) that thou wilt suffer some beame of thy Majestic 
so to shine into my minde, that it may still depend confidently 
on thee. Let calamitie be the exercise, but not the ouerthrow of 
my vertue ; let their power preuaile, but preuaile not to de- 



98 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION, 

struction : let my greatnesse be their pray : let my paine bee 
the sweetnesse of their reuenge : let them, (if so it seeme good 
vnto thee) vexe me with more and more punishment. But, O 
Lord, let neuer their wickednesse haue such a hand, but that I 
may cary a pure minde in a pure body. (And pausing a Avhile.) 
And O most gracious Lord, (said she) what euer become of me, 
preserve the vertuous Musidorus,' 

The " Arcadia" combines the elements of both the chiv- 
alric and the pastoral romance. Sidney's familiarity with 
the legends of Arthur, together with his own gallantry 
and love of adventure, peculiarly adapted him to describe 
martial scenes. But the chivalry of Sir Philip is not 
more apparent where he describes the shock of arms than 
where, with such exquisite delicacy, he writes of women. 
The student of English fiction would fain linger long 
over the pages which describe the loves of Pamela and 
Philoclea. For when these pages are laid aside, it is long 
before he may again meet with the poetry, the manly and 
womanly sentiment, and the pure yet stirring passion 
which adorn the romance of Elizabeth's Philip. Three 
centuries have passed away since the "Arcadia" was 
written, and we who live at the end of this period not 
unjustly congratulate ourselves on our superior civiliza- 
tion and refinement. And yet in all this time we have 
arrived of no higher conception of feminine virtue or 
chivalrous manhood than is to be found in this sixteenth- 
century romance, and during one half of these three hun- 
dred years there was to be seen so little trace of such a 
conception, whether in life or in literature, that the word 
love seemed to have lost its nobler meaning and to stand 
for no more than animal desire. There is not in English 

' Folio, p. 248. 



THE ''ARCADIA." 99 

fiction a more charming picture of feminine modesty 
than that of Pamela hiding her love for Musidorus. 

How delightfull soeuer it was, my delight might well bee in 
my scale, but it neuer wente to looke out of the window to doe 
him any comforte. But how much more I found reason to 
like him, the more I set all the strength of my minde to conceale 
it. * * * Full often hath my breast swollen with keeping 
my sighes imprisoned : full often have the teares I draue back 
from mine eyes turned back to drowne my heart. But, alas, 
what did that helpe poore Dorus ? ' 

Hardly less beautiful is the gradual yielding, through 
pity, of Pamela's maidenly heart. 

This last dayes danger having made Pamela's loue discerne 
what a losse it should haue suffered if Dorus had beene de- 
stroyed, bred such tendernesse of kindnesse in her toward him, 
that she could no longer keepe loue from looking out through 
her eyes, and going forth in her words ; whom before as a 
close prisoner, shee had to her heart onely committed : so as 
finding not onely by his speeches and letters, but by the piti- 
fuU oration of a languishing behaviour, and the easily deci- 
phered character of a sorrowfuU face, that despaire began now 
to threaten him destruction, she grew content both to pitie him, 
and let him see shee pitied him, * * * by making her 
owne beautifull beames to thaw away the former ycinesse of 
her behaviour.* 

That portion of the " Arcadia " which relates to pas- 
toral life owes its origin to Spanish and Portuguese works. 
But there were not wanting to Sidney's experience, 
actual examples of that peaceful existence to which, in 
troubled times, men have so often turned as a pleasing 
contrast to their own cares aud dangers. The shepherds 
of the Sussex Downs, pursuing through centuries their 

' Folio, p. ii6. ' Folio, p. 231. 



lOO HISTORY OF ENGLISH IICTION. 

simple vocation, unheeded by the world, untouched by 
revolution or civil war, tended their sheep with little 
thought or knowledge of the world beyond the downs, 
and presented to the poet a picture of calm content, in 
pleasing contrast to the active or terrible incidents which 
more frequently made up the sum both of romance and 
of actual life. The shepherds of the "Arcadia" make 
even less pretence to reality than the martial heroes. 
They are usually poets and musicians; speaking in 
courtly phrases, and occupied with amorous adventures, 
they serve sometimes to relieve, and sometimes to 
heighten, the more stirring scenes. 

A third element in the " Arcadia " is the comic, and 
with this, as m'ght be expected from the rather crude 
ideas of humor prevalent in the sixteenth century, Sid- 
ney met with indifferent success. The wit depends on 
the ugliness, the perversity, and the clownish character of 
Dametas, his wife, and their daughter Mopsa. It par- 
takes of the nature 'of the practical joke, and though 
it no doubt amused the courtiers of Elizabeth, is too 
clumsy for a more cultivated taste. But although Sid- 
ney's comic scenes may no longer amuse, it must be said 
that they are free from the low coarseness and ribaldry 
which have furnished merriment to times which pre- 
tended to a much higher standard of wit and education 
than his own. An interesting contrast may be made 
between a comic passage of the " Arcadia," ^ representing 
a fight between two cowards, and perhaps the only scene 
in the " Morte d' Arthur" of humorous intent,^ — that in 
which King Mark is ignominiously put to flight by 
Arthur's court fool disguised in the armor of a knight. 
In the history of English literature. Sir Philip Sidney's 
' Book iii. " " Morte d' Arthur," book x, chap. 12. 



THE ''ARCADIA." lOI 

romance will always have a prominent place as the first 
specimen of a fine prose style. The affectations and 
mannerisms which are its chief defect were due to the 
unsettled condition of the language, and to the influence 
of foreign works, which the general love of learning had 
made familiar to cultivated Englishmen. The position 
of the " Arcadia " in fiction is established by the ex- 
quisite descriptions of nature and the life-like sketches 
of character which will often reward the patient reader. 
That prolixity, which more than any other cause has 
made the work obsolete, and, as a whole, unreadable, was 
a recommendation rather than an objection at the time 
of publication. The "Arcadia," standing almost alone 
in the department of fiction, and far superior to its few 
competitors, took the place of a small circulating library. 
A spirit of lofty ideality pervades the work of Sir Philip 
Sidney, which is expressive of the aspirations of his time. 
In the fictions of that age is to be seen a constant at- 
tempt, not always successful, to dignify life, to exalt the 
beautiful, and to conceal or condemn the base. Every- 
day life was not tempting to the writer, because it con- 
tained too much that was repulsive. The story-teller 
and the poet painted amid unreal scenes that happiness 
and virtue which they thought more easily to be 'con- 
ceived in an ideal land of knights and shepherds, than 
amidst the cares and dangers of their own existence.' 

' A Scotchman named Barclay published a partly political and partly 
heroic romance called "Argenis,"in 1621. It was much commended by 
Cowper tlie poet, but being written in Latin, is hardly to be included in 
English fiction. See Dunlop, chap. x. Francis Godwin wrote a curious 
story about 1602, called " The Man in the Moon," in which is described 
the journey of one Domingo Gonzales to that planet. Dunlop (" Hist, of 
Fiction") thought Domingo to be the real author. See chapter xiii. This 
romance js chiefly remarkable for its scientific speculations, and the adoption 
by the author of the Copernican theory. It was translated into French, and 
imitated by Cyrano de Bergeiac, who in his turn was imitated by Swift in 
Erobdignag. See Hallam, " Lit. of Europe," vol. 3, p. 393. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE PURITANS. BUNYAN'S "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." 

I. 

npHE renaissance of learning, with its delight in a 
sense of existence, its enjoyment of a new life, a 
newly acquired knowledge, and a quickened intelligence, 
was gradually supplanted by that renaissance of religion 
which followed the general introduction of the Bible 
among the English people. Weary of the oppression of 
the clergy, weary of giving an often ruinous obedience 
to the tyranny of men whose lives gave them no claim to 
control the conduct of others, the early Puritan found in 
the Bible the knowledge of God and the means of grace 
which he despaired of obtaining from the priest. The 
Bible became in reality The Book. It was the one vol- 
ume possessed and read by the people at large. The 
classical authors, the volumes of translations issued in 
Elizabeth's time, the productions, even, of English genius 
had been familiar only to the upper and best-educated 
classes. The great body of the people were without 
books, and the Bible became their one literary resource, 
and the sole teacher of the conditions by which salvation 
could be attained. It was seized upon with extraordi- 
nary avidity and enthusiasm. Old men learned to read, 
that they might study it for themselves. Crowds gath- 
ered in churches and private houses to hear it read aloud. 



THE PURITANS. IO3 

A good reader became a public benefactor. Alike in 
manor and in cottage, the family gathered at night to 
listen with awe-struck interest to the solemn words 
whose grandeur was not yet lessened by familiarity. As 
we quote, often unconsciously, from a hundred different 
authors, the Puritans quoted from their one book.' 
Some, like Bunyan, at first preferred the historical chap- 
ters. But the Bible soon came to have a far more power- 
ful and absorbing interest than any of a literary nature. 
There men looked for their sentence of eternal life or 
eternal torment. There they sought the solution of the 
question : " What shall I do to be saved ? " And they 
sought it with all the fervor of conscientious men who 
realized, as we cannot realize, the doctrine of eternal 
damnation. To understand the influence of the Bible, 
we must remember how completely men believed in a 
personal God, ruling England then, as He had ruled 
Israel of old ; and in a devil who stalked through the 
world luring men to their perdition. ' The Bible was 
studied with a fearful eagerness for the way to please 
the one and to escape the other. Looked upon as the 
word of God, pointing out the only means of salvation, 
men placed themselves, through the Bible, in direct com- 
munication with the Deity, and, casting aside the author- 
ity of a church, acknowledged responsibility to Him 
alone. The difficulty of interpreting obscure portions of 
the Scriptures drove many to frenzy and despair. A 
hopeful or consoling passage was hailed with joy. 
" Happy are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." 
*' Lo," wrote Tyndale, " here God hath made a covenant 
wyth us, to be mercy full unto us, yf we wyll be mercy 
full one to another." 

Thus two ideas became paramount : the idea of God, 
'See Green's " Short History of the English People," chap, viii, sec. i. 



I04 HISTORY OF ENGLISH fiction: 

and the idea of conscience. God was thought of as a 
judge who will reward His chosen servants by eternal hap- 
piness, but who will deliver those who do not know Him, 
or those who sin against Hislaws, to Satan and everlasting 
fire ; a God to please whom is the first object of this 
life, as no pleasure and no pain here can compare with 
the pleasure or pain to come. This conception of the 
Deity still survives among us, but it is not realized with 
the intensity of men who feel the hand of God in every 
incident of their lives, who fancy that the Devil in 
person is among them, and who distinctly hear his tempt- 
ing words. Conscience, the guide who pointed out the 
path of rectitude, became strict and self-searching, ever 
looking inwardly, and judging harshly, magnifying, 
through the greatness of its ideal of virtue, every 
failing into a crime. The natural result of these ideas 
seething in a brain which had little other food was Puri- 
tanism : the subordination of all other interests of life 
to the attainment of a spiritual condition acceptable in 
the sight of God. Following this aim with feverish in- 
tentness, and tortured by a conscience of extreme ten- 
derness, the Puritans naturally cast aside the pleasures 
of this life as likely to interfere with the attainment of 
future happiness, and as worthless compared to it. It 
was no time for gaiety and trifling when the horrors of 
hell were staring them in the face. 

There is extant a life-like picture of a London house- 
wife, which can teach us much regarding the spirit of 
Puritanism.' " She was very loving and obedient to her 
parents, loving and kind to her husband, very tender- 
hearted to her children, loving all that were godly, much 

' John Wallington's description of his mother. Green's ' ' Short liistoiy 
of the English People," p. 451. 



THE PURITANS. IO5 

misliking the wicked and profane. She was a pattern of 
sobriety unto many, very seldom was seen abroad, ex- 
cept at church. When others recreated themselves, at 
holidays and other times, she would take her needle- 
work, and say, ' here is my recreation.' " 

The self-denial of this virtuous housewife developed 
into that austerity which, when Puritanism had become 
the ruling power in England, closed the theatre and the 
bear-garden, stopped the dancing on the village green, 
and assumed a dress and manner, the sombreness of which 
was meant to signify a scorn of this world. While we 
can now easily perceive the mistakes of the Puritans, and 
condemn the folly of prohibiting innocent amusements 
which form a natural outlet for exuberant spirits, it will 
be well if we can do justice to the nobility of aim, and 
the greatness of self-sacrifice, to which their austerity 
was due. We must remember that the aim of the 
Puritans was a godliness far more exacting than that 
which we seek, and requiring a proportionate sacrifice of 
immediate pleasure. We must remember, too, that the 
amusements of that time were in large part brutal, like 
the bear-gardens ; and licentious, like most of the theatres. 
Puritanism could only exist among men filled to an un- 
common degree with a love of virtue, who were ready 
to undergo every hardship, and to sacrifice every personal 
inclination to attain it. Growing up among the people 
at large, Puritanism showed a strong national love of 
religion and morality. The resolution with which its 
devotees pursued their aims, the serene content with 
which the martyrs welcomed the flames which were to 
open the gates of Heaven, were backed by a strength of 
faith not exceeded by that of the early Christians. The 
self-control and self-sacrifice of the Puritans moulded the 



I06 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

armies of the Commonwealth, and overthrew the tyranny 
of Charles. But their finer qualities were clouded by 
the fanaticism which a long persecution had engendered. 
A phrase in our description of the London housewife 
unconsciously tells the story : " Loving all that were 
godly, much misliking the wicked and profane." The 
godly were the sharers of her own faith, the " wicked and 
profane " were all those without its pale. Here lay the 
weakness of Puritanism : its narrowness, its lack of sym- 
pathy with the world at large, its indifference to the suf- 
ferings of those who had no place in the ranks of the 
elect. 

Among such men we must look in vain for literary 
productions having the aim of entertainment. The litera- 
ture of the time was chiefly polemical, and commentaries 
crowded on the book-shelves the volumes of classical and 
Italian writers. To Puritanism, fiction was the invention 
of the Evil One, but still to Puritanism we owe, what is 
now, and seems destined ever to remain, the finest alle- 
gory in the English language. 

II. 

That John Bunyan, a poor, illiterate tinker, was able 
to take the first place among writers of allegory, and to 
accomplish the extraordinary intellectual feat of produc- 
ing a work which charmed alike the ignorant, who could 
not perceive its literary merits, and cultivated critics, who 
viewed it only from a literary standpoint, depended partly 
on his own natural gifts, and partly on the character' of 
Puritan thought. To write a good allegory requires an 
imagination of unusual power. It requires, in addition, 
.a realization of the subject sufificiently strong to give to 
immaterial and shadowy forms a living personality. 



JOHN BUNYAN. lO/ 

These conditions were combined in Bunyan's case to an 
unexampled degree. He possessed an imagination the 
activity of which would have unsettled the reason of 
any less powerfully constituted man. His subject, the 
doctrine of salvation by grace, was, by the absorbing in- 
terest then attached to it, impressed upon his mind with 
a vividness diflficult to conceive. In "Grace Abounding 
in the Chief of Sinners," Bunyan left a description of his 
life, and the workings of his mind on religious subjects, 
which is without a parallel in autobiography. The veil 
which hides the thoughts of one man from another is 
withdrawn, and the reader is placed in the closest com- 
munion with the mind of the writer. In " Grace Abound- 
ing" is easily detected the secret of Bunyan's success in 
allegory. " My sins did so offend the Lord, that even in 
my childhood He did scare and affright me with fearful 
dreams, and did terrify me with dreadful visions. I have 
been in my bed greatly afflicted, while asleep, with ap- 
prehensions of devils and wicked spirits, who still, as 
I then thought, labored to draw me away Avith them, 
of which I could never be rid. I was afflicted with 
thoughts of the Day of Judgment night and day, trem- 
bling at the thoughts of the fearful torments of hell fire." 
One Sunday, "as I was in the midst of a game at cat, 
and having struck it one blow from the hole, just as I was 
about to strike it the second time, a voice did suddenly 
dart from heaven into my soul, which said, ' Wilt thou 
leave thy sins and go to Heaven, or have thy sins and go 
to Hell?' At this I was put to an exceeding maze; 
wherefore leaving my cat on the ground, and looking up 
to Heaven, saw, as with the eyes of my understanding, 
Jesus Christ looking down upon me very hotly displeased 
with me, and severely threatening me with some grievous 



I08 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

punishment for my ungodly practices. * * * I can- 
not express with what longing I cried to Christ to call 
me. I saw such glory in a converted state that I could 
not be contented without a share therein. Had I had a 
whole world it had all gone ten thousand times over for 
this, that my soul might have been in a converted state." 
After Bunyan's conversion he says of his conscience : 
"As to the act of sinning, I was never more tender than 
now. I durst not take up a pin or a stick, though but so 
big as a straw, for my conscience now was sore, and would 
smart at every touch. I could not tell how to speak my 
words for fear I should misplace them." 

A man so sensitive to supernatural impressions could 
realize them as completely as the actual experiences of 
his daily life. Such, in fact, they were. With a conscience 
so tender, and a longing so intense for what he considered 
a condition of grace, Bunyan described the journey of 
Christian with the minuteness and fidelity of one who 
had trod the same path. The sketch of the pilgrim, which 
opens the work, stamps Christian at once an individual. 

As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted 
on a certain place where was a den ; and I laid me down in 
that place to sleep ; and as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I 
dreamed, and behold, I saw a man clothed with rags, standing 
in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a Book in 
his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I looked, and 
saw him open the Book, and read therein ; and, as he read, he 
wept and trembled ; and not being able longer to contain, he 
brake out with a lamen'able cry, saying "what shall I do ? " 

The same impression of reality pervades the whole 
work. Christian's sins take an actual form in the burden 
on his back. Every personage whom he meets on his 
journey, and every place through which he passes appears 



" THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." IO9 

to the mind of the reader with the vividness of actual 
experience. The child or the laborer reads the " Pil- 
grim's Progress" as a record of adventures undergone by 
a living man ; the scholar forgets the art which has raised 
the picture before his mind, in a sense of contact with 
the subject portrayed. This is the triumph of a great 
genius, and it is a triumph to which no other writer 
has attained to the same degree. Other allegorists have 
pleased the fancy or gratified the understanding, but 
Bunyan occupies at once the imagination, the reason 
and the heart of his reader, Defoe's power of giving life 
to fictitious scenes and .personages has not been sur- 
passed by that of any other novelist. But Defoe's scenes 
and characters were of a nature familiar to his readers, 
and therefore easily realized. In the " Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress," strange and unreal regions become well-known 
places, and moral qualities distinct human beings. 
Evangelist, who puts Christian on the way to the Wicked 
Gate ; Pliable, who deserts him at the first difficulty ; 
Help, who pulls him out of the Slough of Despond ; 
Mr. Worldly Wiseman, who shows him an easy way to 
be rid of his burden, are all life-like individuals. Timo- 
rous, Talkative, Vain Confidence, Giant Despair, are not 
mere personifications, but distinct human beings with 
whom every reader of the " Pilgrim's Progress " feels an 
intimate acquaintance. Not less real is the impression 
produced by the various scenes through which the 
journey of Christian conducts him. The Slough of De- 
spond, the Wicket Gate, the House of the Interpreter, 
the Hill Difficulty, have been familiar localities to many 
generations of men, who have watched Christian's strug- 
gle with Apollyon in the Valley of Humiliation, and 
followed his footsteps as they trod the Valley of the 



no HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Shadow of Death, as they passed through the dangers of 
Vanity Fair, and brought him at last to the Celestial 
City, and the welcome of the Shining Ones. 

The " Pilgrim's Progress" and the " Holy War" are 
not as allegories entirely perfect, but they probably gain 
in religious effect, as much as they lose from a literary 
point of view, in those passages where the allegorical 
disguise is not sustained. The simplicity and power of 
their language are alone sufficient to give them an im- 
portant place in English literature. Throughout the 
" Pilgrim's Progress " are evidences of a strong human 
sympathy, and- a kindly indulgence on the part of the 
author for the weak and erring among his fellow-men. 
Ignorance, to be sure, is cast into the bottomless pit ; 
but as the work taught a spiritual perfection, it could not 
afford to encourage the willingly ignorant by bestowing 
a pardon on their representative. Bunyan himself was 
distinguished for a general sympathy with his fellow-men 
which the narrowness of Puritanism had failed to impair. 
The sad words in which he mourned, while in prison, his 
long separation from his wife and children, show the 
natural tenderness of his disposition, as well as the great- 
ness of the sacrifice which he was making for his religion: 
— " The parting with my wife and poor children hath 
often been to me in this place as the pulling the flesh 
from my bones ; and that not only because I am some- 
what too fond of these great mercies, but also because I 
often brought to mind the many hardships, miseries, and 
wants that my poor family was like to meet with; es- 
pecially my poor blind child, who lay nearer to my heart 
than all I had beside." 

With the allegories of Bunyan, we leave ideality behind 
us as a characteristic feature of English fiction. The 



\ 
END OF IDEALITY IN FICTION. 1 1 1 

knights of the Round Table, Robin Hood and his 
merry men, the princes and princesses of the " Arcadia," 
the pilgrim Christian, were the ideal heroes of the par- 
ticular periods to which they belong. They were placed 
amid the scenes v/hich seemed most attractive, and were 
endowed with the qualities which seemed most admirable 
to the men whose imaginations created them. But, with 
the exception perhaps of Robin Hood, they were purely 
ideal, without prototypes in nature. The writer of fiction 
had not yet turned his attention to the delineation of 
character, to the study of complex social questions, to 
the portrayal of actual life. With the fall of Puritan 
power, begins a great intellectual change. History shows, 
since the Restoration,a tendency which has continuously 
grown stronger and wider, to subordinate the imagination 
to the reason of man, to withdraw political and social 
questions from the influence of mere tradition, to subject 
them instead, to the test of practical experience, and to 
encourage the patient physical investigations which have 
resulted in the triumphs of modern science. This ten- 
dency has pervaded all the channels of human industry. 
Its effect upon works of fiction has been to introduce 
into that department of literature, a spirit of realism, and 
a love of investigating the problems of life and character, 
which have resulted in the modern novel. Henceforth 
we shall meet no more ideal beings, but men or women, 
more or less true to nature. In the fiction of the Res- 
toration are first observable the new tendencies, which, 
although but slightly marked at first, have finally given 
to the English novel its present importance. An attempt 
to trace the gradual perfection of this form of literature, 
its development into a work of art, into a natural history 
of men, into a truthful reflection of very varied social 
conditions, will occupy the remainder of this volume. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE RESTORATION. ROGER BOYLE. MRS. MANLEY. 
MRS. BEHN. 



n^HE Puritans had overthrown the political tyranny 
of Charles, but in attempting to build up by force 
a kingdom of the saints on earth, they had established a 
spiritual tyranny, quite as irksome and quite as perish- 
able, of their own. Meanwhile they had failed to preserve 
the reputation for sanctity which formed the chief basis 
of their authority. As soon as they had attained power, 
they were joined by men who professed their principles 
merely for selfish purposes ; who vied with each other in 
presenting to the world the outward signs of Puritanism, 
and remained notoriously profligate in life and character. 
The kingdom of the saints, objectionable as a tyranny, 
and finally identified in the popular mind with a hated 
hypocrisy, came to its inevitable end in the reaction of the 
Restoration. But when the first fury of this reaction had 
passed away, it was evident that Puritanism survived it : 
no longer a political power, but a moral influence which 
controlled the great body of the people, and gave to 
English habits and literature their distinctive tone of 
serious morality. 

But for the time, all sight of this was lost. The entry 
of Charles II into Whitehall was the sign for unlimited 



REACTION AGAINST PURITANISM. I 1 3 

indulgence in all that had lately been forbidden. " Chassez 
le natural, il revient au galop." ' The Puritans had pent 
up for so long the natural cravings for pleasure and gaiety, 
that, when the barriers were withdrawn, license and de- 
bauchery were necessary to satisfy appetites which a long- 
enforced abstinence had made abnormal. In Vanburgh's 
" Provoked Wife," a comedy, like so many others of thC' 
time, at once very immoral and very entertaining, Sir John 
Brute thus excuses the virtues of his early life: "I was 
afraid of being damned in those days ; for I kept sneak- 
ing, cowardly company, fellows that went to church, said 
grace to their meat, and had not the least tincture of qual- 
ity about them." Heartfree : " But I think you have got 
into a better gang now." Sir John : " Zoons, sir, my Lord 
Rake and I are hand in glove." ^ In the country, people 
were generally satisfied with getting back their May-poles 
and Sunday games. But in London, where the rule of 
Puritanism had been the strictest, and above all among 
the courtiers, the new liberty resulted in a license and 
shamelessness unequalled in English history. 

In the general proscription of Puritan ideas, the good 
were involved in the same destruction as the bad. Relig- 
ion was mocked at as a cloak for hypocrisy, self-restraint 
was thrown aside as an obstacle to enjoyment. It was 
thought that emancipation from Puritan tyranny could 
not be attained more effectually than by a life of open 
licentiousness, by gambling and drunkenness. Such, 
under the Restoration, were the occupations most at- 
tractive to the gentlemen of fashion. Buckingham, 
Rochester, and the troop of courtiers who looked to 
them for an example, spent their lives in sinking into 
an ever deeper depravity. Their thoughts and mouths 
' Destouches, " Glorieux," v. 3. *Act ii, sc. I. 



114 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

were never clean. The verses they wrote are too foul to 
transcribe as an illustration of the taste of their com- 
posers. The orgies in which they indulged were not 
scenes of gaiety, in which buoyant spirits and lively wit 
might excuse excess, but were serious, bestial, and pre- 
mediated. The dealings of these men with the female 
sex were but a succession of low intrigues, which de- 
stroyed all sentiment and left nothing but disgust 
behind them. We hear a great deal about " love " in the 
literature of the time, but it is the same kind of love 
that might be found among a herd of cattle. It would 
be dif^cult to mention any man about the court of 
Charles II who could have appreciated the pure and 
enduring passion which in the century before had 
breathed through the noble lines of Spenser's "Epitha- 
lamion," and in the century that followed inspired 
"John Anderson, my jo' John." Charles himself, "the 
old goat," set an example which hardly needed the 
authority of the Lord's anointed to become attractive. 
Without honor or virtue himself, and denying their 
existence in others, he made a fitting leader of the 
society about him. His mistresses insulted the queen 
by their splendor and arrogance, and insulted him by 
amours with servants and mountebanks. Not content 
with sharing Lady Castlemaine and the Duchess of 
Cleveland with the world, he coolly asked a courtier who 
was reputed to be on too intimate terms with the queen, 
how his " mistress " did. While the gaming-tables at 
court were nightly covered with gold, and Lady Castle- 
maine gambled away thousands of pounds at a sitting, 
the exchequer was closed amid a widespread ruin, and 
the menial servants about the court were in want of bread. 
So openly was the king's coarse licentiousness pursued, 



FEMALE CHARACTER. IIJ 

that " the very sentrys speak of it," that the queen rarely 
entered her dressing-rooms without first being assured 
that the king was not there with one of his women. 
Such an example had a powerful influence upon all the 
rank and fashion of the time, already predisposed to a 
similar course. The extent of the prevailing reverence 
for royalty is admirably illustrated by the scene in which 
the Earl of Arlington advised Miss Stewart concerning 
her conduct as mistress of the king, to which position " it 
had pleased God and her virtue to raise her." Thus from 
the popular dislike of Puritanism, and the example of a 
profligate court, began that reign of social and political 
corruption which for a hundred years demoralized the 
manners and sullied the literature of the English people. 
The vice which became so engrafted on the habits of 
private life as to make decency seem an affectation, in- 
vaded religion and politics. To religion it brought 
about a general indifference, which in the higher ranks 
of the clergy took effect in disregard of their duties and 
in a shameless scramble for lucrative posts, and in the 
lower ranks produced poverty and social degradation. 
In politics are to be dated from this reign the gross cor- 
ruption which enabled every public ofificer, however high 
or however low, to use his position for the purpose of 
private plunder, and the habit of bribing members of 
Parliament which soon converted them into tools of the 
crown's ministers. 

While the men found their greatest enjoyment and 
'most congenial occupation in drunkenness, duelling, and 
seduction, it is not to be expected that women should 
have retained an unappreciated refinement. Half- 
naked and ornamented with a profusion of jewels, they 
look out from the portraits of the time with a sleepy, 



Il6 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

voluptuous expression, which suggests a lack of intelli- 
gence and too great a susceptibility to physical impres- 
sions. Women as we find them in contemporary 
memoirs, and these most often deal with such as are 
about the court, are not unfit companions for the men. 
We see not a few the willing victims of coarse intrigues, 
and some even assisting in the degradation of others of 
their sex. Many of them swore " good mouth-filling 
oaths," and the scandal they talked would have shocked 
the taste as well as the principles of Elizabeth's time. 
In the eighteenth century much coarseness is to be seen 
in literature and society, but we are constantly meeting 
with the words "delicacy" and "indelicacy" in their 
application to social refinement, and it is evident that 
the ideas of that time on this subject differ from ours 
only in degree. Under the Restoration, these words, 
or the thoughts they represent, had a very insignificant 
existence. Public taste inclined to the gross and the 
sensual, and welcomed as enjoyable, what the present 
discards as disgusting. Ladies of the highest rank sat 
through plays of which the purpose and effect was to 
degrade their own womanhood, to remove from the 
minds of the men who sat about and watched their 
countenances at each new obscenity, whatever respect 
for the sex might have lingered there. Some wore 
masks to hide the blushes which might have been looked 
for as a drama proceeded, which represented every 
female character on the stage as little better than an 
animal, using such reason as she possessed only to 
further the gratification of her appetites. Under such 
conditions there could be no encouragement for maiden 
modesty, and for old age no crown. 

It is usually unfair to judge a community by its 



THE DRAMA. WJ 

theatre, to which an exceptional liberty must always be 
allowed. But the drama of the Restoration may be 
said to reflect with much truth the popular taste. For 
the noblest efforts of dramatic genius the student turns 
by preference to the age of Elizabeth. There he finds 
art, beauty, and poetry ; there he finds human nature, 
with its nobility and its littleness, with its virtues and its 
vices. The time of Charles II was as narrow in its 
way as the Puritans had been in theirs, and was as 
little capable of forming broad and just views of man- 
kind. The Puritans, if they had had a stage, would 
have represented man as an embodiment of moral qual^ 
ities. The dramatists of the Restoration made him 
merely a creature subject to animal desires and brutish 
instincts, which he made no effort to regulate. " It 
might not be easy perhaps," says Hallam, "to find a 
scene in any comedy of Charles II's reign, where one 
character has the behavior of a gentleman, in the sense, 
we attach to the word." ' The stage was in perfect 
accord with its audience. Morality was outraged by a 
constant association of virtue with all that is contempti- 
ble, and of vice with all that is attractive. Taste was 
outraged by a perpetual choice of degraded subjects, and 
disgusting scenes. Nature was outraged by the repre- 
sentation of man, not as a complex being, worthy of 
deep and skilful investigation, but as a creature influ- 
enced by two or three passions always apparent on the 
surface. Thus the dramatists, notwithstanding their 
very exceptional abilities, produced little of enduring 
value, and nothing which could outlive a change in the 
popular taste. They did, however, produce what was 
greatly admired by their contemporarjec ; and tlio fact 

' " Literature of Europe," vol, 4, chap. 6, sec. 2-47. 



Il8 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

that the men and the women of the time enjoyed the 
plays provided for them, shows that they preferred to 
noble and elevating subjects, the literary reproduction of 
their own corrupt lives. The theatre no doubt repre- 
sented men as worse than they were. But the friends 
of Buckingham and Rochester, both male and female, 
found in its long list of unprincipled men, of married 
women debauched, and of young girls anxious to be 
debauched, the reflection and justification of their own 
careers. 

Posterity remembers little of the reign or the theatre 
of Charles II beyond their corruption. Yet there is 
much that is worthy of remembrance, without which 
any remarks on the social condition of the time would 
be one-sided. There are to be referred to that period 
many legislative enactments in the highest degree con- 
ducive to civil and religious liberty. The foundation of 
the Royal Society marked the inauguration of a new in- 
terest in speculative enquiry, of a great activity in scien- 
tific research, and of a broader and more liberal habit of 
thought on questions connected with government and 
education. These advantages were attained in spite of a 
worthless king, of corrupt ministers, and a licentious 
court, and they are due to the earnestness and vigor of 
the great body of the English people, qualities which have 
remained unchanged through every national vicissitude 
or success. While Pepys and Grammont supply full de- 
tails of the moral degeneration which weakened and de- 
based the highest ranks of society, the sound morality, 
steady industry, and progressive nature of the nation are 
to be seen in the journal of the good Evelyn. His char- 
acter and occupations, as well as those of his friends, off- 
set the coarse tastes and worthless lives which brought 



HEROIC ROMANCE. 1 19 

the time into discredit. To the prevailing disregard of 
the marriage tie may well be contrasted the happiness of 
Evelyn's domestic life. His daughter, of whom he has 
left a beautiful description, was endowed with an eleva- 
tion of character, a charm of disposition, and a purity of 
thought admirable in any age, and it cannot be doubted 
that she had many contemporary parallels. 

II. 

With the pensions and fashions which were sent across 
the Channel from the court of Louis XIV, came a curious 
species of fiction which had a temporary vogue in Eng- 
land. Gomberville, Scuderi, and Calprenede had created 
the school of Heroic Romance by the publication of those 
monumental works which the French not inaptly termed 
" les romans de longue haleine." This was the bulky 
but enervated descendant of chivalric and pastoral ro- 
mance. The tales of chivalry and of pastoral life had 
their raison d' etrc. The feudal knighthood found in the 
tournaments, in the adventures of knight-errantry, and in 
the supernatural agencies which filled their volumes of 
romance, the reflection of their own aspirations and be- 
liefs. They admired in the ideal characters of Charle- 
magne and Arthur the qualities most valued among them- 
selves. Martial glory was to them the chief object of 
life ; love was simply the reward of valor. The pastoral 
romance followed in less warlike times. Its subject was 
love ; and that passion was usually described amidst 
humble and peaceful shepherds, where its strength and 
charm could develop more fully than amidst scenes of 
war and tumult. Both the chivalric and the pastoral 
romance were the embodiment of ideals which in turn 
represented contemporary tastes. But heroic romance, 



I20 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

although it shared some of the characteristics of its pred- 
ecessors, had not the same claim to interest. It was un- 
natural and artificial, rather than ideal. It imitated the 
martial character of the tales of chivalry, but subordinated 
that character to love. It imitated the elevated strain of 
adoration which ran through the fanciful phrases of pas- 
toral fiction ; but that artificial passion which seemed ap- 
propriate to ideal shepherds tuning their pipes under a 
perpetual sunshine, became absurd when applied to Greek 
or Carthaginian soldiers. 

Gomberville's " Polexander," complete in six thousand 
pages, and Calprenede's "Cassandra," "the fam'd romance," 
are now before me. Greeks, Romans, Turks, Parthians, 
Scythians, Babylonians are mingled together in a truly 
heroic structure of absurdity and anachronism. Arta- 
xerxes appears on one page, the queen of the Amazons on 
the next, then the king of Lacedsemon, Alexander the 
Great, even a prince of Mexico, and comparatively pri- 
vate persons beyond computation. This crowd of names 
represent personages who imitate the deeds of chivalry, 
and converse in the affected style of the French court, 
while their ancient bosoms are distracted by a pure, all- 
absorbing, and never-dying love as foreign to their nature 
as to that of the readers of heroic romance. That this 
species of fiction should have met with any success, is 
largely due to the circumstance, that under the disguise 
of Greek warriors or Parthian princesses, there were 
really described contemporary beauties and courtiers, 
who fondly believed that they had attained, through the 
genius of Calprenede and Scuderi, an enviable immortali- 
ty. Unhappily for them, the characters of heroic ro- 
mance have found in that endless desert of phraseology 
at once their birthplace and their tomb. 



' ' PA R THENISSA ." 121 

The works of Gomberville, Calprenede, and Scuderi, al- 
though little adapted to the English taste, shared the fa- 
vor which was extended to every thing French, and were 
both translated and imitated. The " Eliana," published 
in 1661, although a bona-fide imitation, would have served 
much better as a caricature. To the absurdity of inci- 
dent is added an absurdity of language which gives the 
book almost a comic aspect. The beauty of flowers grow- 
ing in the fields is disguised under the statement that 
Flora " spreads her fragrant mantle on the superficies of 
the earth, and bespangles the verdant grass with her 
beauteous adornments." A lover " enters a grove free 
from the frequentations of any besides the ranging beasts 
and pleasing birds, whose dulcet notes exulscerate him 
out of his melancholy contemplations." ' 

Dunlop considered the best work of this description to 
be the " Parthenissa," published in 1664, by Roger Boyle, 
afterward Earl of Orrery. This romance, although 
marked by the faults of prolixity and incongruity 
characteristic of the heroic style, is not without narrative 
interest or literary merit. The hero is Artabanes, a Me- 
dian prince, as usual " richly attired, and proportionately 
blessed with all the gifts of nature and education." At 
the Parthian court he becomes enamored of the beauti- 
ful Parthenissa, and in her honor performs many dis- 
tinguished deeds of arms. Distracted, however, at the 
suspicion of Parthenissa's preference for a rival, he leaves 
the Parthian court with the determination to spend 
the remainder of his life on the summit of the Alps. 
This intention is frustrated by pirates, who take him 
prisoner and bestow him as a slave upon their chief. 
Artabanes soon escapes from bondage, suddenly turns out 

Dunlop's " History of Fiction," chap. iv. 



122 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

to be the historic Spartacus, and returns to Asia. There 
he finds that Parthenissa, to avoid the importunities of 
an objectionable lover, has swallowed a potion which 
gives her the appearance of death. In this dilemma he 
journeys to " the Temple of Hieropolis in Syria, where 
the Queen of Love had settled an oracle as famous as 
the Deity to whom it was consecrated." The priest of 
this temple, after listening patiently to the long account 
of Artabanes' misfortunes, tells the story of his own re- 
markable career, by which it appears that he is Nicom- 
edes, king of Bythinia, the father of Julius Caesar's Ni- 
comedes. While Artabanes is listening to this narrative, 
he sees two persons land upon the shore, and enter a 
neighboring wood. One is a young knight, and the other 
the exact counterpart of Parthenissa. At this apparition 
Artabanes is thrown into the greatest confusion. The 
lady he has seen presents every outward appearance of 
his mistress, and yet he believes her dead, and is unable 
to conceive that if living, she should so far forget her 
duty to him and the rules of propriety, as to place herself 
in so suspicious a position. Here the romance comes to 
an abrupt end, leaving Artabanes in the condition of pain- 
ful uncertainty in which he has ever since remained. 

Heroic romance proved as ephemeral in England as 
the cloaks and feathers with which it had crossed the 
Channel, and we may pass over such trivial literary at- 
tempts as those of the Duchess of Newcastle to the 
writings of Mrs. Manley and Mrs. Behn. These two 
novelists, if such they may still be called, represent, in 
narrative fiction, the period which extends from the Res- 
toration to the opening of the eighteenth century. They 
have left us little, and that of very indifferent merit. 
But their stories have a certain importance, inasmuch as 
with them begins the tendency, in English fiction, to 



MRS. MANLEY. 1 23 

deal with the actual, instead of the imaginary, to describe 
characters and scenes meant to represent real life. 

The daughter of Sir Roger Manley, at one time Gover- 
nor of Guernsey, Mrs. Manley was seduced, when quite a 
young woman, and passed the remainder of her life in a 
licentiousness which has evidently inspired her literary 
productions. Having picked up a few stories from cur- 
rent report, she worked them into what she called " The 
Power of Love, in Seven Novels." ' The " love " here de- 
scribed is an unregulated animal passion, and its " power " 
is the natural effect of such a passion upon men and 
women who have no idea of self-restraint or refinement. 
The result is a series of licentious scenes, unredeemed by 
any literary merit. Mrs. Manley's most prominent work 
was the " Secret Memoirs and Manners of Several Persons 
of Quality of Both Sexes. From the New Atalantis, an 
Island in the Mediterranean." This book is a scandalous 
chronicle of crimes reputed to have been committed by 
persons of high rank, and the names are so thinly dis- 
guised as to be easily identified. Mrs. Manley was arrested 
and prosecuted for the publication, but escaped without 
serious punishment. The work itself had a wide circula- 
tion, and Pope adopted the endurance of its fame as a 
measure of time in his shortsighted line, "As long as 
Atalantis shall be read." 

In the beginning of this book a female personage 
named Astraea resolves to revisit the earth, which she had 
long before abandoned in disgust. She alights upon an 
island in the Mediteranean, named Atalantis, which is 
meant to signify England, and a female form immedi- 
ately rises up before her. 

' " The Fair Hy))Ocrile," " The I'hysician's Stratage-m," " The Wife's Re- 
sentment," "The Husband's Resentment," in two parts; "The Happy 
Fugitive," " The Perjured Beauty." 



124 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Her habit obsolete and torn, almost degenerated into tat- 
ters ; But her Native Charms, that needed not the Help of Art, 
gave to Astraea's returning Remembrance that it could be no 
other than her beautiful Mother Vertue. But oh ! how des- 
picable her Garments ! how neglected her flowing Hair ! 
How languid her formerly animated Eyes ! How pale, how 
withered, the Roses of her lovely Cheeks and Lips ! How 
useless her snowy arms and polished Fingers ! they hung in a 
melancholy Decline, and seemed out of other Employment, 
but sometimes to support the Head of the dejected Fair One ! 
Her limbs enervated and supine, wanting of that Energy which 
should bear her from a Solitude so affrighting ! 

From this very accurate description of the condition 
of virtue at the end of the seventeenth century, it might be 
supposed that Mrs. Manley deplored her neglected state. 
But such is far from being the case. Astraea and Virtue 
meet with a personage called Intelligence, who furnishes 
them with a detailed account of current scandal cal- 
culated to still further depress the dejected Virtue. The 
trio are soon joined by Mrs. Nightwork, a midwife, who 
never breaks an oath of secrecy unless it be to her inter- 
est, and the character of whose contributions to the 
general fund of gossip may be easily imagined. This 
semi-allegorical method of narration is kept up during 
the first two volumes ; in the third and fourth Mrs. 
Manley tells her story in her own way. In the course of 
these four volumes is unrolled an extraordinary series of 
crimes, some unnatural, and all gross in the highest de- 
gree. The details which Mrs. Manley could not obtain 
from authentic sources are supplied by her vivid and 
heated imagination. She gloats over each incident with 
a horrible relish, and adds, with no unsparing brush, a 
heightened color to each picture. Only a society whose 



MRS. BEHN. 125 

conduct could afford material for this composition could 
possibly have read it. Mrs. Manley no doubt invented 
and exaggerated Avithout scruple, but the fact that her 
work was widely read and even popular is a sufficient 
commentary on the taste of the time. The reader of 
to-day is sickened by the multiplication of repulsive 
scenes, and the absence from the book of any good 
qualities or actions whatever. The style in which the 
" Atalantis" is written is so mean, that no person could 
have derived any pleasure from its pages other than the 
gratification of a depraved taste. 

A writer of fiction of much greater importance ap- 
peared in the person of Aphra Johnson, more generally 
known as Mrs. Behn, or "the divine Astraea"; "a 
gentlewoman by birth, of a good family in the city of 
Canterbury." Her father was appointed to a colonial 
office in the West Indies, where he took his family while 
Mrs. Behn was yet a young girl. There the future 
authoress began a chequered life by living on a planta- 
tion among rough and lawless colonists, and there she 
made the acquaintance of the slave Oroonoko, whose sad 
story she afterward made known to the world. On her 
return to England, she married Behn, a merchant of 
Dutch extraction, and went to live in the Netherlands, 
where she acted as a British spy. By working upon the 
feelings of her lovers, she was able to convey information 
to the English government of the intention of the Dutch 
to enter the Thames to destroy the English fleet. Her 
warnings were disregarded, and giving up her patriotic 
occupation, she returned to London, and devoted her- 
self to literature. She died in 1689, and was buried in 
the cloisters of Westminster Abbey: — "Covered only 
with a marble stone, with two wretched verses on it." 



126 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Although Mrs. Behn is now almost forgotten, her posi- 
tion in her own time was not inconsiderable. Besides a 
number of letters and poems, her literary productions 
include a translation of Fontenelle's " Plurality of 
Worlds," and a paraphrase on Van Dale's " De Oraculis 
Ethnicorum." Her plays met with some success, but 
were characterized by a licentiousness which won for her 
the title of " the female Wycherley," a fact, which, on 
account of her sex, called down upon her a general and 
well-deserved condemnation. Two other productions, of 
which the nature is sufficiently indicated by their titles, 
were " The Lover's Watch ; or the Art of making Love : 
being Rules for Courtship for every Hour of the Day 
and Night " ; and " The Ladies Looking Glass to dress 
themselves by; or the whole Art of charming all Man- 
kind." 

It was on Mrs. Behn's return from the West Indies 
that, being introduced at court, she related to Charles 
the Second the terrible fate of the noble slave Oroonoko. 
At the solicitation of the king, she put her narrative into 
the form of a novel, which obtained a large circulation, 
and was dramatized by Southern in his tragedy of the 
same name. " Oroonoko " is worthy of notice as one of 
the earliest attempts on the part of an English novelist 
to deal with characters which had come under the writer's 
observation in actual life. It is still more important on 
account of the presence within it of a didactic purpose ; 
a characteristic which for good or for evil has been a 
prominent feature of the English novel. Sir Thomas 
More had made use of fiction in the sixteenth century to 
urge his ideas of political and social reforms. Bunyan, 
more than a century later, used the same means to pro- 
mulgate his conception of a Christian life. While Eng- 



"OROoNOKor 127 

lish narrative fiction was still in its first youth, Mrs. 
Behn protested against the evils of the slave trade 
through the medium of a story which may be considered 
a forerunner of " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

To interest the public in a distant country or an ab- 
stract principle, the novel is the most effective literary 
means. A treatise on the slave trade by Mrs. Behn, 
however strong and truthful, would have met with the 
little attention which is accorded to the sufferings of a 
distant and unknown people. But the novel has the 
advantage over the treatise, that it deals with the par- 
ticular and not the general, with the individual and not 
the nation. It can place before the reader a limited 
number of persons ; it can interest his mind and heart in 
their characters, lives, and fate ; and by subjecting them 
to the horrors of the evil to be depicted, excite through 
commiseration for their sufferings a hatred of the cause 
which inflicted them. To such a use the novel has often 
been put, at too frequent a sacrifice of its artistic merit. 
To excite indignation against the results of the slave 
trade, Mrs. Behn took the special instance of Oroonoko. 
She endowed the African slave with beauty of person 
and nobility of character. She gave him tastes and quali- 
ties of a kind to attract the interest of a European 
reader. She added a description of his wife Imoinda, 
dwelling on the details of her beauty and charms. By a 
passionate relation of the amatory scenes which occurred 
between Oroonoko and his wife, she touched a key par- 
ticularly calculated to excite contemporary English sym- 
pathy. Finally, by telling the story of the cruel wrongs 
inflicted on the slaves, she aroused a natural indignation 
against the system which could entail such evil results. 

The story itself is briefly as follows. Oroonoko was a 



128 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

brave young chief, the grandson of a king whose domin- 
ions lay on the coast of Africa. He had distinguished 
himf;elf in war, and already commanded all the forces of 
his grandfather's kingdom. Hitherto rather unsuscep- 
tible to female charms, he became deeply enamored of 
Imoinda, on returning victorious from a great war. Un- 
fortunately the king noticed Imoinda at the same time, 
and had her brought to his palace as his concubine. 
According to the rules of the court, this would separate 
the lovers forever. Oroonoko in desperation made his way 
to Imoinda's chamber in the palace at night, where he was 
discovered by the king's servants. Imoinda was immedi- 
ately sold as a slave. Oroonoko made his way down to 
the seashore, and was there allured, under false pretenses 
of hospitality, on board an English ship. He was carried 
to the West Indies, and sold to a planter of Surinam, the 
colony in which Mrs. Behn was living, and where by a 
remarkable chance Imoinda had already been sold. The 
beauty of Imoinda had brought about her a large num- 
ber of suitors, all of whom met with a cold repulse. The 
tenderness of the meeting between Oroonoko and Imo- 
inda prevailed upon their master to allow them to live 
together. But Oroonoko longed for liberty. He plotted 
a revolt among his fellow-slaves, and on its suppression 
was brutally flogged. Enraged by this, he escaped into 
the woods with Imoinda, who was then pregnant. Fear- 
ing that she might fall into the hands of the whites, and 
unwilling to be the father of a slave, he killed her, and 
remained by her dead body several days, half insensible 
with grief and without food. Again taken by the colo- 
nists, he was tied to a post, hacked to pieces and burned. 
The story, simple in itself, becomes striking in the hands 
of Mrs. Behn. The hut of the old negro king is given 



" oROONOKor 129 

the brilliancy of an Eastern court, and his harem is 
copied after that of a Turkish potentate. When Oroo- 
noko is induced to board the English slaver, it is in no 
common style, but " the Captain in his Boat richly 
adorned with Carpets and velvet Cushions went to the 
Shore to receive the Prince, with another Long Boat 
where was placed all his Music and Trumpets." Mrs. 1 
Behn's methods of adorning her tale are best shown by 
her description of Oroonoko himself, which is a good ex- 
ample of the tone in which the story is written. 

I have often seen and conversed with this Great Man, and 
been a Witness to many of his mighty Actions ; and do assure 
my Reader, the most illustrious Courts could not have pro- 
duced a braver Man, both for Greatness of Courage and Mind, 
a Judgment more solid, a Wit more quick, and a Conversation 
more sweet and diverting. He knew almost as much as if he 
had read much : he had heard of and admired the Romans ; 
he had heard of the late Civil Wars in England, and the de- 
plorable Death of our great Monarch ; and would discourse of 
it with all the Sense and abhorrence of the Injustice imagin- 
able. He had an extreme good and graceful Mien, and all the 
civility of a well bred Great Man. He had nothing of Barbari- 
ty in his Nature, but in all Points addressed himself as if his 
Education had been in some European Court. 

This great and just character of Oroonoko gave me an ex- 
treme Curiosity to see him, especially when I knew he spoke 
French and English, and that I could talk with him. But 
though I had heard so much of him, I was as greatly surprised 
when I saw him, as if I had heard nothing of him ; so beyond 
all Report I found him. He came into the Room, and ad- 
dressed himself to me and some other Women with the best 
Grace in the World. He was pretty tall, but of a Shape the 
most exact that can be fancyed : The most famous Statuary 
could not form the Figure of a Man more admirably turned 



130 »■ HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

from Head to Foot, His face was not of that brown rusty 
Black which most of that Nation are, but a perfect Ebony or 
polished Jet. His Eyes were the most aweful that could be 
seen, and very piercing ; the White of 'em being like Snow, as 
were his teeth. His Nose was rising and Roman, instead of 
African and flat. His Mouth the finest Shape that could be 
seen ; far from those great turn'd Lips which are so natural to 
the rest of the Negroes. The whole Proportion and Air of his 
Face was so nobly and exactly form'd, that bating his Colour, 
there would be nothing in Nature more beautiful, agreeable 
and handsome. There was no one Grace wanting that bears 
the Standard of true Beauty. His Hair came down to his 
Shoulders, by the aids of Art, which was by pulling it out with 
a quill, and keeping it comb'd ; of which he took particular 
care. Nor did the perfections of his Mind come short of those 
of his Person ; for his Discourse was admirable upon almost 
any Subject ; and whoever had heard him speak, would have 
been convinced of their Errors, that all fine Wit is confined to 
the white Men, especially to those of Christendom ; and would 
have confessed that Oroonoko was as capable even of reigning 
well, and of governing as wisely, had as great a Soul, as politick 
Maxims, and was as sensible of Power, as any Prince civilized 
in the most refined Schools of Humanity and Learning, or the 
most illustrious Courts.' 

" Oroonoko " is the only one of Mrs. Behn's stories 
which has a didactic aim or a special interest of any 
kind. Her other works of fiction are short tales, usually 
founded on fact, which describe in unrestrained language 
the passion and adventures of a pair of very ardent 
lovers. They show the prevailing inclination in narra- 
tive fiction toward characters and scenes taken from 
actual life. But they have no interest apart from the 
slender thread of the story itself. They contain no 

' '.' History of Oroonoko," Mrs. Behn's " Collected plays and novels." 



LOVE STORIES. -* I3I 

studies of character, and no information of importance 
concerning contemporary manners. Their heroes and 
heroines differ from each other only in the intensity or 
the circumstances of their love. The best in narrative in- 
terest, and the most attractive in tone, is the " Lucky 
Mistake." It is without, the grossness characteristic of 
Mrs. Behn's works, and gives quite a pretty account of 
the loves of a youno- French nobleman and an unusually 
modest young woman named Atlante. Mrs. Behn's 
notion of love is contained in the opening lines of the 
" Fair Jilt," the most licentious of her tales. " As Love is 
the most noble and divine Passion of the Soul, so it is 
that to which we may justly attribute all the real Satis- 
factions of Life ; and without it Man is Unfinished and 
unhappy. There are a thousand things to be said of the 
Advantages this generous Passion brings to those whose 
Hearts are capable of receiving its soft Impressions; for 
'tis not Every one that can be sensible of its tender 
Touches. How many Examples from History and Ob- 
servation could I give of its wondrous Power ; nay, even 
to a degree of Transmigration ! How many Idiots has it 
made wise ! How many Fools eloquent ! How many 
home-bred Squires accomplished ! How many cowards 
brave ! " There is no doubt that Mrs. Behn was fully 
alive to the strength of the passion she describes, but as 
Sir Richard Steele said, she " understood the practic part 
of love better than the speculative." In accordance with 
the views general amidst the society of her own time, she 
represented love merely as a physical passion, and made 
the interest of her stories depend on its gratification, and 
not on the ennobling effects or subtle manifestations of 
which it is capable. 

There is a great deal in that well-known anecdote of 



132 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Sir Walter Scott's, in which he relates that he '• was ac- 
quainted with an old lady of family, who assured him 
that, in her younger days, Mrs. Behn's novels were as 
currently upon the toilette as the works of Miss Edge- 
worth at present ; and df^scribed wit4i some humor her 
own surprise, when the book falling into her hands after 
a long interval of years, and when its contents were quite 
forgotten, she found it impossible to endure, at the age 
of fourscore, what at fifteen, she, like all the fashionable 
world of the time, had perused without an idea of im- 
propriety." This is a striking illustration of the mere 
relativeness of such words as *' morality," " refinement," 
and their opposites. If this old lady could have lived 
over her early youth embued with the refinement of taste 
which surrounded her declining years, she would have 
been still more shocked at the coarseness of language, 
and the looseness of conduct and morals which prevailed 
among the highest ranks. At the same time she would 
have observed, that the society which appeared to her 
coarse and corrupt was far from so considering itself. 
What is gross to one age may have been the refinement 
of the last. A young girl considered modest and dis- 
creet at the end of the seventeenth century, if transferred 
unchanged to the end of the eighteenth, would have 
shocked the women she met with by talking of subjects 
unmentioned in society with a freedom and broadness 
unusual among the men. In judging a literary work 
from the point of view of morality or refinement, we 
must compare it with the standard of the age to which it 
belongs, and not with our own. Pope's graphic lines, in 
which he describes Mrs. Behn's position as a dramatist, 

" The stage how loosely doth Astraea tread, 
"Who fairly puts all characters to bed." 



MRS. BERN'S COARSENESS. 1 33 

apply almost equally well to her novels. But still the 
contemporary reader found nothing in their pages to of- 
fend his sense of propriety. And Mrs. Behn, who simply 
put into a literary form ideas and scenes which were com- 
mon in the society about her, cannot with justice be ac- 
cused of an intention to pander to the lowest tastes of 
her readers. She said herself, when reproved for the 
tone of her plays, which was much inferior to that of her 
novels : " I make a challenge to any person of common 
sense and reason, — that is not wilfully bent on ill nature, 
and will, in spite of sense, wrest a double entendre from 
everything * * * but any unprejudiced person that 
knows not the author — to read one of my comedies and 
compare it with others of this age, ^nd if they can find 
one word which can offend the chastest ear, I will sub- 
mit to all their pevish cavills." All this is worthy of 
note, if we are to follow the course of English fiction 
without prejudice. For it will be shown that the nine- 
teenth century, with all its well-deserved pride in an 
advanced refinement and morality, has produced a large 
number of novelists, both male and female, whose works 
are as immoral as those of Mrs. Behn, without her ex- 
cuse. Who, with all the advantages accruing from life 
in a refined age, with every encouragement to pursue a 
better course, have deliberately chosen to court an in- 
famous notoriety by making vice familiar and attractive. 
And this too, at a time when a general confidence in the 
purity of contemporary literary works has practically done 
away with parental censorship ; when books of evil ten- 
dency are as likely to fall into the hands of the young 
and susceptible as those of elevating tendency — a cir- 
cumstance which adds a new responsibility to the duties 
of the conscientious writer. 



CHAPTER VI. 

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. I. — ENGLAND UNDER 
ANNE AND THE FIRST TWO GEORGES. II, — SWIFT, 
ADDISON, DEFOE. III. — RICHARDSON, FIELDING, SMOL- 
LETT. 

I. 

'T^HE advance of a nation in numbers and civilization 
is accompanied by so great a complexity of social 
conditions, that in this volume it is possible only to at- 
tempt to seize such salient characteristics of the eigh- 
teenth century as may serve to throw light on the course 
of English fiction. No age presents a more prosaic as- 
pect. If we consider the condition of England at the 
beginning of the eighteenth century, the prevalence of 
abuses and corruption left by the ignorance or vice of 
preceding years, and reflect at the same time upon the 
progressive nature of the people, the practical habit of 
their minds, and the moral earnestness which they never 
wholly lost, it is not surprising to find that the century 
is one of reforms. Population and wealth had outgrown 
the laws and customs which had hitherto served for their 
control, and though in the earlier part of the period we 
find corruption in public and private life, indifference in 
religion, inadequate provision for the education of the 
young, gross abuses in jurisprudence, and coarseness of 
action and taste throughout the social system, there is 
also perceptible a solid foundation of good-sense and an 

134 



INTELLECTUAL CHARACTERISTICS. 1 35 

earnest desire for improvement, which gradually, as the 
century wore on, introduced one reform after another, 
until many of those benefits were attained or made pos- 
sible which the present century almost unconsciously en- 
joys. We should lose one of the most instructive lessons 
which history can afford, if, with Carlyle, we should allow 
the eighteenth century to lie "massed up in our minds as 
a disastrous, wrecked inanity, not useful to dwell upon."' 
The England of that century was modern England, but 
modern England, burdened with a heritage of corruption 
and ignorance which it is the glory of the time to have in 
large part discarded. It was a time of social and material 
progress, and it was also the period of the growth and 
perfection of English fiction. To thoroughly understand 
the one, we must be acquainted with the other, and it 
will be the object of the two following chapters to trace 
the development of the English novel in connection with 
that national development of which it will be shown to 
be in great measure the exponent. 

That subordination of imagination to reason, which, 
after the Restoration, became so marked in English 
thought on intellectual, political, and religious subjects, 
was continued in the eighteenth century with results 
which affected the whole current of national life. Before 
the light of physical science, silent but irresistible in its 
advance, faded away the remains of dogmatism and super- 
stition. Astrology was forgotten in astronomy; belief in 
modern miracles and witchcraft ceased to take root in 
minds conscious of a universe too vast for realization, 
and governed by laws so regular, that probability could 
not attach to arbitrary interference by God or the devil. 
From the broadening of the intellectual horizon finally 
' Carlyle, " Frederick the Great," p. 13, vol. i. 



136 HISTORY OF ENGLISH fiction: * 

resulted inestimable benefits; but these benefits were 
purchased at the price of much temporary evil. If in 
religion, the rational tendencies prepared the way for the 
liberal and undogmatic Christianity to come, their 
effect for many years was to be seen only in scepticism, 
in a mocking indifference to religion itself, in a contempt 
of high moral aspirations and sentiments. If in politics, 
the final effect of these tendencies was to introduce new 
wisdom into government, they showed for long no 
other result than the suppression of all the higher quali- 
ties of a statesman, the disappearance of every sign of 
patriotism other than an ignorant hatred of foreign 
countries, the complete subversion of public spirit by 
private rapacity. 

The prevailing intellectual characteristics are marked, 
in literature, by the great predominance of prose over 
poetry. It will be no disparagement to Pope, Prior, 
Gray, Collins, Akenside, Goldsmith, or Young, to say 
that they did not attain in poetry what in prose was at- 
tained by Swift, Defoe, Steele, Addison, Bolingbroke, 
Richardson, Fielding, Smollet, Hume, Gibbon, Junius, 
and Burke ; while Goldsmith is as much valued for his 
prose as for his verse, Addison, Swift, and Johnson more 
so. It is to these men, and to contemporaries of lesser 
note, that English literature is indebted for the invention 
or perfection of prose forms of the highest importance 
and beauty. Defoe stands pre-eminent among the found- 
ers of the newspaper, destined to attain so high a degree 
of power and utility. Addison, Steele, and Johnson 
made the essay one of the most attractive and popular 
forms of literature. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Hor- 
ace Walpole, Chesterfield, and Junius brought letter- 
writing to perfection. Defoe, Addison, Richardson, and 



INDIFFERENCE TO POETRY. 137 

Fielding developed the realistic novel. A prosaic and 
conventional tone pervaded even the poetry of the 
period. Appreciation of poetry was almost extinguished. 
Addison, writing of the poets of the past, made no 
mention of Shakespeare, and found it possible to say 
of Chaucer: 

In vain he jests in his unpolish'd strain, 
And tries to make his readers laugh, in vain. 

And of Spenser : 

Old Spenser next, warm'd with poetick rage. 
In ancient tales amus'd a barb'rous age. 
But now the mystick tale that pleas'd of yore 
Can charm an understanding age no more.* 

" If you did amuse yourself with writing any thing in 
poetry," wrote Horace Walpole to Sir H. Mann, in 1742, 
" you know how pleased I should be to see it ; but for 
encouraging you to it, d'ye see, 'tis an age most unpoeti- 
cal ! 'Tis even a test of wit to dislike poetry ; and though 
Pope has half a dozen old friends that he has preserved 
from the taste of last century, yet, I assure you the gen- 
erality of readers are more diverted with any paltry 
prose answer to old Marlborough's secret history of 
Queen Mary's robes. I do not think an author would be 
universally commended for any production in verse, 
unless it were an ode to the Secret Committee, with 
rhymes of liberty and property, nation and adminis- 
tration." 

During the brilliant era of literary activity, known by 
the name of Queen Anne, men of letters were encour- 

* Addison, "An Account of the Greatest English Poets." Quoted by 
Henry Morley, LL.D., " English Literature in the Reign of Victoria." 



138 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

aged by the government by means of employment or re- 
wards. They were supported also by the public through 
the high social consideration which was freely accorded 
to men of talent. Literary success was a passport to the 
houses and the intimacy of the great. But under the first 
two Georges and the administration of Walpole the gov- 
ernment was seconded by the public in its neglect of au- 
thors and their works. In those days the circle of readers 
was too small to afford remuneration to authorship. Em- 
ployment or help from the government was almost a sine 
qua lion for the production of works which required time 
and research. While under Anne, Swift received a dean- 
ery, Addison was Secretary of State, Steele a prominent 
member of Parliament, and Newton, Locke, Prior, Gay, 
Rowe, Congreve, Tickell, Parnell, and Pope all received 
direct or indirect aid from the government, in the reigns 
of George I and George IT, Steele died in poverty. Sav- 
age walked the streets for want of a lodging, Johnson 
lived in penury and drudgery, Thomson was deprived of 
a small office which formed his sole dependence.' This 
neglect of authors and of literature was only partially 
due to an unappreciative government. It was supported 
by the indifference of a public in a high degree material 
and unintellectual. Conversation in France, said Ches- 
terfield, " turns at least upon some subject, something of 
taste, some point of history, criticism, and even philoso- 
phy ; which, though probably not quite so solid as Mr. 
Locke's, is, however, better and more becoming rational 
beings than our frivolous dissertations upon the weather 
or upon whist." 

In keeping with the unimpassioned and prosaic tone of 
the time, was the low state of religious feeling, and the 

'Lecky's " History of England in the i8th Century," vol. i, p. 502. 



INDIFFERENCE TO RELIGION. 1 39 

degeneration of the church, both in its own organization 
and in public esteem. The upper classes of society, as a 
rule, were lukewarm and insincere in any form of belief. 
Statesmen and nobles in the most prominent positions 
combined professed irreligion with open profligacy, while 
the lower classes were left, through the indolence and 
selfishness of the clergy, almost without religious teach- 
ing. Montesquieu found that people laughed when re- 
ligion was mentioned in London drawing-rooms. Sir 
Robert Walpole put the general feeling in his own coarse 
way. " Pray, madam," said he to the Princess Emily, 
when it was suggested that the archbishop should be 
called to the death-bed of Queen Caroline, " let this farce 
be played ; the archbishop will act it very well. You 
may bid him be as short as you will. It will do the 
queen no hurt, no more than any good ; and it will satisfy 
all the wise and good fools, who will call us all atheists if we 
don't pretend to be as great fools as they are." ' This 
low state of religious sentiment was brought about by 
much the same causes which, at a later time, substituted 
a moral and liberal for the old dogmatic Christianity. 
The dislike of theological controversy left by the civil 
wars was aided by the Act of Toleration in giving the 
nation a religious peace, and in diverting human energy 
from religious speculations or emotions. The rational 
character of the national intellect was inclined to what 
was material and tangible, to physical study or industry. 
The general desire to submit all questions to the test of 
a critical reason, induced the clergy to apply the same 
test to theology. But while these tendencies, in their 
final result, were on the whole beneficial to religion, their 
temporary effect was injurious to it in a high degree. 
' Lord Hervey, " Memoirs of George II," v. 2, p. 527. 



I40 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

With a few exceptions, such as Butler, Berkeley, and 
Wilson, the clergy shared the indifference of their flocks. 
The upper ranks were indolent, selfish, often immoral ; 
the lower, poor, ignorant, and degraded in social position. 
Bishops and prominent clergymen, under the system of 
pluralities, left their congregations to the care of hungry 
curates, and sought promotion by assiduous attendance 
at ministers' levees, or by paying court to the king's mis- 
tresses. It is not surprising that public respect for them 
and for their calling almost died away. Pope wrote 
sneeringly : ' 

Even in a bishop I can spy desert ; 
Seeker is decent, Rundle has a heart, 

A naked Venus hung in the room where prayers were 
read while Queen Caroline dressed, which Dr. Madox 
sarcastically termed " a very proper altar-piece." ° Of the 
High Churchmen Defoe declared that " the spirit of 
Christianity is fled from among them." When the Prince 
of Wales died, George the Second appointed governors 
and preceptors for the prince's children. Horace Wal- 
pole's description^ of one of these is significant. " The 
other Preceptor was Hayter, Bishop of Norwich, a sensi- 
ble well-bred man, natural son of Blackbourn, the jolly 
old Archbishop of York, who had all the manners of a 
man of quality, though he had been a Buccaneer and was 
a Clergyman ; but he retained nothing of his first profes- 
sion except his seraglio." 

While the attention of the upper clergy was largely 
absorbed by thoughts of private profit and by the pursuit 

' Hervey's " Mem. of George II," vol. I, p. 447, note. 

'' Walpole's " Reminiscences"; Hervey's " Mem.," v. 2, p. 163, note. 

^Walpole's " Mem. of George II," vol. i, p. 87. 



POLITICAL CORRUPTION. I4I 

of worldly advancement, the lower ranks were left in a 
position degrading alike to themselves and to religion. 
In the country a clergyman was little above a peasant in 
social consideration, and seldom equal to him in the com- 
forts of life. To eke out the sustenance of himself and 
family, hard labor in his own garden was by no means the 
most menial of the services he was obliged to perform. 
His wife was usually a servant-maid taken from a neigh- 
boring country-house, and the kitchen was his most com- 
mon resort when he visited the home of a squire. A 
private chaplain was little above a servant. In London, 
many clergymen fell into the prisons through debt or 
crime. From the ranks of the lower clergy were recruited 
the " buck-parsons," so long a scandal to the church and 
to public morality; and the large body of "Fleet par- 
sons," of infamous character, in the pay of gin-shops and 
taverns, who, for a trifling sum, performed what were 
legal marriages between boys and girls, drunkards and 
runaways. 

The corruption in political life, begun under the Res- 
toration and increased during the Revolution, was ampli- 
fied and reduced to a system under Walpole until govern- 
ment seemed to be based on bribery. Ridiculing public 
spirit and disinterested motives in others, he bribed 
George the Second with the promise of a large civil 
list, bribed Queen Caroline with a large allowance, bribed 
members of Parliament with sinecures, pensions, or with 
direct payments of money, and paid himself with wealth 
and a peerage. Corruption was so firmly rooted as an 
engine of power, that no serious discredit attached to it. 
So low had fallen the standard of political honor, so 
widespread had become the spirit of self-seeking and 
corruption among the ministers and in Parliament, that 



142 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

" Love of our country," wrote Browne, " is no longer 
felt ; and except in a few minds of uncommon greatness, 
the principle of public spirit exists not." ' The dominat- 
ing idea of political life was well put in the words of the 
Marquis of Halifax: "Parties in a state, generally, like 
freebooters, hang out false colors ; the pretence is public 
good, the real business is to catch prizes." Lord Hervey 
divided the Whig party in 1727 into "Patriots and 
Courtiers, which was in plain English, 'Whigs in place,' 
and ' Whigs out of place.' " " The assertion of disinter- 
estedness met only with ridicule. In an interview with 
Queen Caroline, " when Lord Stair talked of his con- 
science with great solemnity, the queen (the whole con- 
versation being in French) cried out : Ah, my Lord, ne 
me parlez point de conscience, vous me faites evanouir."^ 
As personal advancement, and not the public service, 
was the ruling aim of statesmen, it is not surprising that 
for this advancement no .means were regarded as too 
low. The king's mistresses were the object of ceaseless 
attentions from aspirants for office, and sometimes were 
the recipients of their bribes. Treachery was the order 
of the day. Bolingbroke said to Sir Robert Walpole, 
" that the very air he breathed was the gift of his 
bounty," and then left Sir Robert to tell the king that 
Walpole " was the weakest minister any prince ever em- 
ployed abroad, and the wickedest that ever had the 
direction of affairs at home." * The Duke of Newcastle, 
that "living, moving, talking caricature," stands out an 
exaggerated type of the common statesmen of the time ; 

' Browne's " Estimate of the Times " ; Lecky, " Hist, of iSth Century," 
vol. i, p. 509. 

"^ Lord Hervey, " Mem. of Geo. II," vol. i, p. 5. 

' Idem, vol. i, p. 170. 

* Idem, vol. i, p. 18. , 



POLITICAL CORRUPTION. 143 

"hereditary possessors of ennobled folly,"* maintained in 
ofifices which they had no capacity to fill by corruption, 
the abuse of patronage, and the control of rotten bor- 
oughs. Speaking of the Dukes of Devonshire, Grafton, 
and Newcastle, Lord Hervey says^: "The two first were 
mutes, and the last often wished so by those he spoke for, 
and always by those he spoke to." George the Second 
appreciated the character and objects of his advisers. He 
had, also, a frank and pointed way of describing them. In 
his opinion Sir Robert Walpole was "a great rogue"; 
Mr. Horace Walpole, ambassador to France, was a "dirty 
buffoon"; Newcastle, an "impertinent fool"; Lord Town- 
shend, a "choleric blockhead";' while Lord Chesterfield 
was disposed of as a "tea-table scoundrel."^ He com- 
plained that he was " obliged to enrich people for being 
rascals, and buy them not to cut his throat." * " The king 
and queen," wrote Hervey, " looked upon human kind as 
so many commodities in a market, which, without favor or 
affection, they considered only in the degree they were 
useful, and paid for them in that proportion — Sir Robert 
Walpole being sworn appraiser to their Majesties at all 
these sales." * 

The cringing subserviency of political men was equal 
to their corruption. When George I died, and it was be- 
lieved that Sir Spencer Compton would succeed to the 
power of Sir Robert Walpole, at the king's reception 
" Sir Robert walked through these rooms as if they had 
been still empty ; his presence, that used to make a crowd 
wherever he appeared, now emptied every corner he 
turned to, and the same people who were officiously a 

' Hervey's " Mem.," i, 20. » Idem, vol. i, p. 208. 

' Hervey's " Memoirs," i, 39. ♦ Idein, ii, 360. 

* Idem, ii, 31. • Idem, vol. i, p. 91. 



/ 

144 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

week ago clearing the way to flatter his prosperity, were 
now getting out of it to avoid sharing his disgrace. 
Everybody looked upon it as sure, and whatever profes- 
sions of adherence and gratitude for former favors were 
made him in private, there were none among the many 
his power had obliged (excepting General Churchill and 
Lord Hervey) who did not in public as notoriously de- 
cline and fear his notice, as they used industriously to 
seek and covet it." ' On the same occasion, Horace 
Walpole tells us, " my mother * * * could not make 
her way (to pay her respects to the king and queen) be- 
tween the scornful backs and elbows of her late devotees, 
nor could approach nearer to the queen than the third or 
fourth row ; but no sooner was she descried by her Maj- 
esty, than the queen cried aloud, * There I am sure I see 
a friend!' The torrent divided and shrunk to either 
side ; ' and as I came away,' said my mother, ' I might 
have walked over their heads if I had pleased.' "° The 
general corruption and wickedness produced a remarkable 
misanthropy in the minds of men, which is reflected in 
the savage satire of Swift, in the bitter invective of Jun- 
ius, in the cynicism of Lord Hervey. Sir Robert Wal- 
pole, said the latter, " had more warmth of affection and 
friendship for some particular people than one could have 
believed it possible for any one who had been so long 
raking in the dirt of mankind to be capable of feeling for 
so worthless a species of animals. One should naturally 
have imagined that the contempt and distrust he must 
have had for the species in gross, would have given him 
at least an indifference and distrust toward every partic- 
ular." ^ 

* Hervey *s " Memoirs," vol. i, p. 37. ^ Hervey, i, 22-25. 

'Horace Walpole, ••Reminiscences-" 



POLITICAL CORRUPTION. 1 45 

The mercenary character of Parliament allowed the first 
two Georges to have much their own way as long as the 
money held out. Liberty of the subject, if not in great 
danger, had certainly lost its natural guardian. Few seats 
depended on a direct and popular vote. Most of them 
were in the gift of noblemen or rich commoners, " rotten 
boroughs," having only " the bare name of a town, of 
which there remains not so much as the ruins.'" Defoe 
tells us that the market price of a seat was a thousand 
guineas. The object of the purchaser was less often the 
service of his country, or even an honorable ambition, 
than the profit to be made from the sale of his vote. 
Members not infrequently had regular salaries from the 
government. " Sir Robert Walpole and the queen both 
told me separately," wrote Lord Hervey, " that it (the 
victory of the court) cost the king but 900/. — 500/. to one 
man, and 400/. to another; and that even those two sums 
were advanced to two men who were to have received 
them at the end of the session had this question never 
been moved, and who only took this opportunity to so- 
licit prompt payment." "^ Lord Chesterfield, in the same 
letter in which he spoke of the corrupt influencing of 
elections as a high crime and misdemeanor, recommends 
the Earl of Marchmont to bribe "some of your venal 
peers " to confess that they took money to vote for the 
court.' " Ever since Lord Granville went out," wrote 
Horace Walpole in 1744, " all has been in suspense. The 
leaders of the Opposition immediately imposed silence 
upon their party ; everything passed without the least 
debate, — in short, all were makifig their bargains. One 

' Locke " On Civil Government," b. ii, ch. 13 ; Lecky's " History of the 
i8th Century," vol. i, p. 471. 
^Hervey's " Memoirs," ii, 280. 
'Chesterfield, "Correspondence," iii, 94. 



146 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

has heard of the corruption of courtiers, but, believe me, 
the impudent prostitution of patriots, going to market 
with their honesty, beats it to nothing. Do but think of 
two hundred men of the most consummate virtue, setting 
themselves to sale for three weeks ! " ' The corruption 
of Parliament and the indifference of members to any in- 
terests other than their own, were pointedly expressed by 
Queen Caroline in her reply to an address by Lord 
Stair ^ : — " I must, therefore, once more ask you, my Lord, 
how you can have the assurance to talk to me of your 
thinking the sense of constituents, their interests, or their 
instructions any measure or rule for the conduct of their 
representatives in Parliament. * * * To talk, there- 
fore, in the patriot strain you have done to me on this 
occasion, can move me, my Lord, to nothing but laugh- 
ter." 

In the words of Mr. Lecky,^ the government was " cor- 
rupt, inefificient, and unheroic, but it was free from the 
gross vices of continental administrations ; it was moder- 
ate, tolerant, and economical ; it was, with all its faults, 
a free government, and it contained in itself the elements 
of reformation." The national industry and resolution, 
particularly in the middle classes, brought about a great 
increase of wealth, a remarkable development of manu- 
factures and commerce, which gave the country the ex- 
traordinary prosperity which it has since, almost without 
a check, enjoyed. The external appearance of England 
presented a new aspect. A fourth part of the whole land 
was redeemed from waste and put under cultivation." 
The advance in agriculture and manufactures, making 

'Walpole to Mann, Dec. 24, 1744, 

* Hervey's " Memoirs," i, 172. 

'"History of Eighteenth Century," vol. i, p. 512. 

* Green's " Short History of the English People," pp. 768-9. 



SOCIAL LIFE. 147 

necessary better means of communication, introduced 
canals and substituted fine highways for the old muddy, 
robber-infested roads. The condition of these as late as 
1736 may be inferred from that of the road between Ken- 
sington and London : " The road between this place and 
London is grown so infamously bad, that we live here in 
the same solitude as we should do if cast on a rock in 
the middle of the ocean, and all the Londoners tell us 
there is between them and us a great, impassable gulf of 
mud. There are two roads through the Park, but the 
new one is so convex and the old one so concave, that 
by this extreme of faults they agree in the common one 
of being, like the high-road, impassable." ' 

Social life was marked by the same corruption, by the 
same absence of high aspirations and standards which we 
have seen in politics. The nation, especially the higher 
ranks, had not recovered from the license of the Restora- 
tion, while the agencies which can preserve virtue and 
refinement in a society were almost inactive. Religion, 
partly in consequence of the reaction which followed the 
civil wars, and partly in consequence of the spread of 
rational tendencies, had lost its hold on society, and no 
longer sufificed to keep it in check. Theological contro- 
versy, although it issue in narrowness and persecution, 
yet has the merit of keeping alive an appreciation of 
high moral qualities and aims. In the absence of strong 
religious feeling, there is yet in the human mind a natur- 
al preference for what is beautiful and honorable, usually 
taking the form of ideals, which may keep up a social 
tone. This may be seen in the age of Elizabeth, not a 
very religious period, but one in which poetry and eleva- 
tion of thought overshadow coarseness and immorality. 

'Hervey, ii, 189, note. 



148 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

The nineteenth century, again, is neither marked by- 
strong reHgious feelings, nor by any great tendency to 
ideahzation. And yet the nineteenth century has its 
standard, firmly based on public opinion, made up of a 
respect for decency and justice, a love of refinement, and 
an appreciation of the expediency as well as the attract- 
iveness of virtue; a standard which influences many 
minds over which religion has little control. But in the 
earlier part of the eighteenth century, religion had ceased 
to govern, and had not yet attained that moral influence 
which, even in the absence of strong faith, establishes 
rectitude of conduct, philanthropy, and purity of thought 
in the minds of men. The ideals and aspirations of pre- 
ceding centuries had no meaning for what Addison called 
an " understanding age," and the standard of order, re- 
finement, and taste of the present had yet to come. The 
low state of society was realized and revolted against by 
the best minds of the time. Gay lampooned it in the 
" Beggars' Opera," Swift satirized it in "Gulliver's Travels," 
Defoe became by force of circumstances a moral teacher; 
Addison, Steele, all the essayists preached lay sermons ; 
the novelists set out with the object, less to amuse than 
to instruct, to improve their readers. This tendency, so 
marked in the literature of the time, is the evidence of 
the reforming influences at work. But many years 
passed before their effect was perceptible. 

There is nothing attractive about George the First and 
his two ugly old mistresses, the " Elephant " and the 
" Maypole " ; nor about his court of Germans, utilizing 
their time in England by accumulating money to carry 
back to Hanover when the harvest time had passed. 
George the Second, brave, but narrow and ill-tempered, 
embodied in himself the coarseness of the time. He 



SOCIAL CORRUPTION. I49 

loved his wife, who was faithful to him through every 
outrage and every neglect. He caused one side to be 
taken out of her coffin, so that when he should be laid 
beside her his dust might mingle with hers. He esteemed 
her so highly, that in his grief at losing her, he went so 
far as to say that if she had not been his wife, he would 
liave wished her for a mistress. To this wife, whom, in 
his own way, he sincerely loved and sincerely mourned, 
he confided all the details of his amours with other 
women. From Hanover, where he was acquiring Madame 
Walmoden as his mistress, " he acquainted the queen by 
letter of every step he took — of the growth of his pas- 
sion, the progress of his applications, and their success — of 
every word as well as every action that passed — so minute a 
description of her person that, had the queen been a 
painter, she might have drawn her rival's picture at six 
hundred miles' distance. He added, too, the account of 
his buying her, and what he gave her, which, considering 
the rank of the purchaser, and the merits of the purchase 
as he set them forth, I think he had no great reason to 
brag of, when the first price, according to his report, was 
only one thousand ducats — a much greater proof of his 
economy than his passion." ' Among many extraordin- 
ary r«,^ations and expressions* his letters contained, "there 
was on^ in which he desired the queen to contrive, if she 
could, ti:at the Prince of Modena, who was to come the 
latter enc of the year to England, might bring his wife 
with him; and the reason he gave for it was, that he 
heard her ITighness was pretty free of her person, and 
that he had tKe greatest inclination imaginable to pay his 
addresses to a daughter of the late Regent of France, the 
Duke of Orleans — ' un plaisir ' (for he always wrote in 
' Heivey's " Memoirs," vol. i, p. 500. 



I 50 HIS TOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

French), ' que je suis sur, ma chere Caroline, vous serez 
bien aise de me procurer, quand je vous dis combien je le 
souhaite.' Such a request to his wife respecting a Avoman 
he never saw, and during his connection with Madame 
Walmoden, speaks much stronger in a bare narrative of 
the fact, than by any comment or reflections ; and is as 
incapable of being heightened as difficult to be credited." ' 
Queen Caroline bore all this without a murmur in order 
to retain her political influence with the king. To the 
power of the queen she sacrificed the feelings of the 
woman. With many good qualities and considerable 
ability, she shared in the prevailing coarseness. Her son, 
the Prince of Wales, was a very disagreeable person. 
Neither the queen nor the Princess Caroline '' made much 
ceremony of wishing a hundred times a day that the prince 
might drop down dead of an apoplexy — the queen cursing 
the hour of his birth, and the Princess Caroline declar- 
ing she grudged him every hour he continued to breathe ; 
and reproaching Lord Hervey" forever having believed 
" the nauseous beast (those were her words) cared for 
anybody but his own nauseous self." ' The morning after 
the prince had been ordered to leave the palace, "the 
queen, at breakfast, every now and then repeated, ' I 
hope, in God, I shall never see him again ' ; and the 
king, among many other paternal douceurs in his valedic- 
tion to his son, said, 'Thank God, to-morrow night the 
puppy will be out of my house.' " ^ "My dear Lord," 
said the queen to Hervey, " I will give it to you 
under my own hand, if you are in any fear of my re- 
lapsing, that my dear first-born is the greatest ass and 
the greatest liar, and the greatest canaille., and the great- 

' Hervey 's " Memoirs," vol. i, p. 502. 
"Lord Hervey's " Memoirs^" ii, 255. 
^ Idem, ii, 434. 



CONTEMPT FOR MARRIAGE. 151 

est beast in the whole world, and that I most heartily wish 
he was out of it." ' After the royal family, Sir Robert Wal- 
pole was the most prominent person in the country. He 
went about publicly with his mistress, and entertained his 
friends at his country-seat with orgies which disturbed 
the whole neighborhood. When the queen died he 
urged the princesses to get their father some new mistress 
to distract him. Lord Hervey says that Lady Sundon 
" had sense enough to perceive what black and dirty 
company, by living in a court, she was forced to keep."^ 
Lady Deloraine, who was suspected of being the king's 
mistress, " when she spoke seriously to Sir Robert Wal- 
pole, pretended not to have yet yielded ; and said ' she 
was not of an age to act like a vain or a loving fool, but 
that if she did consent, that she would be well paid.'"^ 
" She told Lady Sundon, with whom she was very little 
acquainted, that the king had been very importunate 
these two years ; and had often told her how unkind she 
was to refuse him ; that it was mere crossness, for that he 
was sure her husband would not take it at all ill." " 
The looseness of the marriage tie had been a prevailing 
evil ever since the Restoration. Steele wrote in the 
Tat Ur in 1710: "The wits of this island for above fifty 
years past, instead of correcting the vices of the age, 
have done all they could to inflame them. Marriage has 
been one of the common topics of ridicule that every 
stage scribbler hath found his account in ; for whenever 
there is an occasion for a clap, an impertinent jest upon 
matrimony is sure to raise it. This hath been attended 
with very pernicious consequences. Many a country 
squire, upon his setting up for a man of the town, has 

' Hervey's " Memoirs," ii, 472. " Idem, i, go. 

^Hervey's " Memoirs," ii, 350. * Idem, ii, 349. 



152 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

gone home in the gaiety of his heart and beat his wife. 
A kind husband hath been looked upon as a clown, and 
a good wife as a domestic animal unfit for the company or 
conversation of the beau monde. In short, separate beds, 
silent tables, and solitary homes have been introduced by 
your men of wit and pleasure of the age." ' 

The prevailing immorality and coarseness were in keep- 
ing with the absence of sympathy with all elevation of 
thought and sentiment. " If a man of any delicacy were 
to attend the discourses of the young fellows of this age," 
wrote Steele, " he would believe that there were none 
but prostitutes to make the objects of passion." ' 
" Every woman is at heart a rake," thought Pope. 
Women were generally treated with disrespect, and dis- 
tinctively female virtues were almost without apprecia- 
tion. It is instructive to contrast the deeds of arms done 
in honor of a mistress in the Middle Ages, and the ele- 
vated sentiments held regarding women in what Addison 
called a *' barbarous age," with the actions by which 
young men sometimes showed their devotion in the 
earlier part of the eighteenth century. The latter were 
as extravagant as the former, but extravagant after how 
different a manner. One young fellow distinguished 
himself by drinking wine strained through his mistress' 
chemise ; another, by drinking out of her shoe ; another, 
by having her slipper torn to shreds, cooked, and served 
up as a dish. Coarseness of thought naturally brought 
on coarseness of action. Horace Walpole wrote in 1737, 
" 'T is no little inducement to make me wish myself in 
France, that I hear gallantry is not left off there ; that 
you may be polite, and not be thought awkward for it. 

' Tatler, No. 159, Saturday, April 15, 171a 
* Steele, Tatler, No. 5. 



DISRESPECT TOWARD WOMEN. 1 53 

You know the pretty men of the age in England use the 
women with no more deference than they do their coach 
horses, and have not half the regard for them that they 
have for themselves," ' 

Against the grosser faults of immorality and indecency 
Steele and Addison preached. But even they were insen- 
sible to an elevated view of the relations between men 
and women. Such a view was, however, taken by Defoe ; 
a man whom Steele and Addison, as well as the polite 
world in general, looked upon as an adventurer, and one 
whose opinions on social subjects they disdained. " We 
reproach the sex every day," wrote Defoe, " with folly 
and impertinence, while I am confident, had they the 
advantages of education equal to us, they would be 
guilty of less than ourselves. * * * I cannot think 
that God ever made them so delicate, so glorious 
creatures, and furnished them with such charms, so agreea- 
ble and so delightful to mankind, with souls capable of 
the same enjoyments as men, and all to be only stewards 
of our houses, cooks, and slaves." ^ Defoe stands almost 
alone in his remonstrance against the neglect of female 
education. But he stands more isolated still in his appre- 
ciation of womanly virtues, and in the enthusiasm with 
which he could speak of them. " A woman well-bred 
and well-taught, furnished with the additional accom- 
plishments of knowledge and behavior, is a creature 
without comparison. Her society is the emblem of sub- 
limer enjoyments ; she is all softness and sweetness, love, 
wit, and delight ; she is every way suitable to the sublimest 
wish ; and the man that has such a one to his portion, 
has nothing to do but to rejoice in her and be thankful." * 

' Walpole to Montague, March 20, 1737. 

" Wilson's " Memoirs of Defoe," vol. i, p. 265. 

' Wilson's " Memoirs of Defoe," vol. i, p. 206. 



154 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Love was hardly distinguished from mere animal de- 
sire. The poets wrote of it coldly and conventionally, 
as of a thing which existed only in name. The lover 
could only beg his mistress " to ease his pain." But the 
conventionality which extended through all thoughts 
and expressions relating to the higher emotions of the 
human soul, had no effect in diminishing the coarseness 
of thought and conversation. Men were conventional as 
regards the nobler sentiments of life, but they were not 
conventional in the spirit which excludes from conversa- 
tion and literature the gross and the immoral. Chester- 
field wrote to his son of honor, justice, and so forth, as 
qualities of which he should know the names, but of no 
consequence compared to " manners, good-breeding, and 
the graces." If a man blushed, it was not at his own 
indecency, nor at his own vice, but at the supposition 
that he could be so weak as to be influenced by senti- 
ments of delicacy. Coarseness is, of course, quite separ- 
ate from immorality, although the two are usually found 
together. In the earlier part of the eighteenth century 
there was a marked distinction between them. Swift's 
Stella, a woman of refinement, was highly indignant at 
remarks being made before her of a licentious character, 
but she herself used expressions of the grossest descrip- 
tion without a thought of impropriety. The same dis- 
tinction is seen in the essays ^and novels of the time. 
Swift, Defoe, Fielding, Richardson, all had a moral 
object in their fictions — the exposure and condemnation 
of vice, the encouragement of virtue. And yet most of 
these novels, especially intended to exert a good influ- 
ence, are of so coarse a nature, and describe scenes so 
licentious that no parent would now allow them in their 
children's hands. The essayists wrote principally what 



COA USE NESS OF TASTE. I 55 

we should now look upon as sermons, or moral teachings, 
and yet very many of their papers are unfit to be read 
in a mixed society. Men and women were made then 
of coarser stuff than we. Their eyes and ears were less 
sensitive. They were, at best, accustomed to think and 
speak of things which to us seem disgusting, and of 
which, therefore, we think and speak as little as possible. 
In view of the circumstances which influenced society in 
the last century, this condition was a perfectly natural 
one. We must bear it in mind in reading contemporary 
literature, that we may not mistake an author's intention. 
But we must be careful in censuring what was, after all, 
only one necessary stage in the development of our own 
civilization. It must be said, also, that the coarseness of 
the eighteenth century was a healthy coarseness, bred of 
energetic natures and animal spirits. In our time, and in 
the midst of our advanced refinement there lurks a sickly 
sentimentality, a false modesty, and an unhealthy deli- 
cacy which are in a high degree inimical to morality. 
We have novels in great numbers, not broadly coarse, as 
those of Fielding or Smollett, but insidiously immoral, 
painting vice and unbridled passions in an attractive 
light. 

The same rude and physical coarseness controlled the 
standard of taste, and introduced boisterousness and vio- 
lence even into amusements. " The present grandeur of 
the British nation might m.ake us expect," wrote Steele, 
" that we should rise in our public diversions and manner 
of enjoying life, in proportion to our advancement in 
glory and power. Instead of that, survey this town, and 
you will find rakes and debauchees are your men of 
pleasure ; thoughtless atheists and illiterate drunkards 
call themselves free-thinkers ; and gamesters, banterers, 



156 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

biters, swearers, and twenty new-born insects more, are, 
in their several species, the modern men of wit." ' Wal- 
pole'' wrote in 1744 : " The town has been trying all this 
winter to drive pantomimes off the stage, very boister- 
ously ; for it is the way here to make even an affair of 
taste and sense a matter of riot and arms. Fleetwood, 
the master of Drury Lane, has omitted nothing to sup- 
port them, as they supported his house. About ten days 
ago he let into the pit great numbers of bear-garden 
bruisers (that is the term), to knock down everybody that 
.hissed. The pit rallied their forces and drove them out. 
I was sitting very quietly in the boxes contemplating all 
this. On a sudden the curtain flew up, and discovered 
the whole stage filled with blackguards armed with blud- 
geons and clubs, to menace the audience. This raised the 
greatest uproar." 

Mrs. Delany, whose character has excited so much ad- 
miration in her own and in succeeding generations, left, 
in her autobiography and letters, a picture of the society 
about her as seen by one of the most refined and culti- 
vated women of the time. Like many others, she was 
struck with disgust at the coarseness and immorality 
which surrounded her. " It is enough to make one a 
cynic, to shun the world, and shut oneself up in a tub as 
Diogenes did ; but I must acknowledge, though the age 
is very degenerate, that it is not quite void of perfection. 
I know some persons that still reconcile me to the world, 
and that convince me that virtue is not fled, though it is 
confined to a few." ^ "The men have so despicable an 
opinion of women, and treat them by their words and ac- 

' Steele, Taller, No. 12, May 7, 1709. 

* Walpole to Mann, Nov. 26, 1744. 

^Letter to Mrs. Ann Granville, Dec. 5, 1729. 



SOCIAL LIFE. 157 

tions so ungenerously and inhumanly." ' " The women 
were never so audacious as now ; this may well be called 
the brazen age." ^ The material tone of society and its 
lack of sentiment were largely responsible for the low es- 
timation in which women were held. Marriages were al- 
most universally arranged on the simple basis of money, 
a circumstance which explains much of the conjugal infi- 
delity and unhappiness which prevailed. " My Lady A.'s 
behaviour," wrote Mrs. Delany/ " and some more wives' 
behaviour of the same stamp, has so disgraced matri- 
mony that I am not surprised the men are afraid of it ; 
and if we consider the loose morals of the men, it is 
strange the women are so easily won to their own undo- 
ing." Mrs. Delany, while a young married woman, al- 
though she was known to be of a virtuous character, was 
subjected to licentious attacks which fell little short of 
violence. It is hardly necessary to comment on the hard 
drinking and the hard swearing which were almost uni- 
versal characteristics of gentlemen of fashion. Duelling 
was still a custom, and gambling was the favorite amuse- 
ment at court, at the clubs, and in ladies' drawing-rooms. 
The title of gentleman depended on birth, and had noth- 
ing to do with personal conduct. Caste feeling was very 
strong. Gentlemen looked upon professional men or men 
of letters as beneath them, however superior they might 
be in manners, morals, or education. A curious instance 
of this caste feeling occurred in the case of Captain Vratz, 
who said of himself and companions on their way to the 
gallows for murder, that " God would show them some 
respect as they were gentlemen." When Gay's " Beggar's 

^Letter to Mrs. Ann Granville, Jan. 17, 1731-32. 
'Letter to Mrs. Ann Grrnville, Nov. iS, 1729. 
^Letter to Mrs. Ann Gri.nville, Christmas-day, 1729. 



158 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Opera" was put on the stage, the fashionable world crowd- 
ed to see their own coarseness and immorality exhibited 
in the persons of thieves and highwaymen, and to laugh 
at the truth of the Beggar's words : " Through the whole 
piece you may observe such a similitude of manners in 
high and low life, that it is difficult to determine whether 
(in the fashionable vices) the fine gentlemen imitate the 
gentlemen of the road, or the gentlemen of the road the 
fine gentlemen." 

The lower classes of society were as ignorant and brutal 
as the higher were coarse and corrupt. Among the other 
qualities in which the times were deficient, was philan- 
thropy. The measures which the wisdom and charity of 
the present have exerted to diminish crime, and to im- 
prove the condition of the poor, were then represented 
only by a harsh and cruel penal code, which had a power- 
ful, though an indirect tendency to promote pauperism 
and to multiply criminals. Although population had 
greatly increased, no new provision had been made for 
religious teaching, and there were no schools but those of 
Edward and Elizabeth.' Defective poor-laws, which for- 
bade laborers to move from one parish to another in 
search of work, made pauperism in many cases the inev- 
itable fate of the industrious. In the cities there was no 
adequate police regulation of the criminal classes ; and 
this, too, at a time when peaceful habits were fast grow- 
ing among the people at large, and police protection was 
more needed than ever before. At the same time there 
came upon the lower classes the terrible scourge of gin. 
Violent and ignorant as these classes were, the effects 
upon them of so cheap and maddening a drink were in- 
calculably debasing. " The drunkenness of the common 

' Green, " Short History of the English People," p. 717. 



THE LOWER CLASSES. 1 59 

people," says an eye-witness, "was so universal by the 
retailing of a liquor called gm, with which they could get 
drunk for a groat, that the whole town of London, and 
many towns in the countrj' swarmed with drunken people 
of both sexes from morning to night, and were more like 
a scene from a Bacchanal than the residence of a civil 
society." ' The sign which hangs over the inn-door in 
Hogarth's picture of Gin Lane, and announces that the 
customer can get drunk for a penny, dead drunk for two- 
pence, and have straw for nothing, was a copy, not an in- 
vention. Attempts to limit the trafific in gin were met 
by riots so fierce that the government was obliged to 
withdraw its measures. The violent natures of the com- 
mon people appeared in their amusements as well as in 
their crimes. Their sports were of the most brutal kind, 
and almost all involved the sufferings of men or animals. 
Among other entertainments advertised to take place in 
London in 1729 and 1730, were " a mad bull to be dressed 
up with fireworks and turned loose in the game place, a 
dog to be dressed up with fireworks over him, a bear to 
be let loose at the same time, and a cat to be tied to the 
bull's tail, a mad bull dressed up with fireworks to be 
baited."^ Such amusements were interspersed with cock- 
fighting, prize fights and boxing matches between women. 
The same brutality characterized the crimes of the period. 
Violent riots, aggravated by the plunder of gin-shops, at- 
tended the preaching of the Methodists, the Gin Act, 
and even the employment by Garrick of a few French 
dancers at Drury Lane Theatre. Piracy and smuggling 
were systematically carried on, accompanied by atrocious 
cruelties and murders. It was no uncommon practice for 

'Lord Heivey's " Memoirs of George II," vol. ii, p. 139. 
"Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes," p. 259; Lecky, " History of England 
in the i8tii Century," vol i, chap. iv. 



l6o HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION 

the inhabitants of the sea-coast to lure vessels on shore 
by false signals in order to plunder them. 

Other causes, as well as the ignorance and brutality in 
which the lower classes almost necessarily lived, contrib- 
uted to the number and impunity of criminals. It was 
only in 1736 that the streets of London, hitherto plunged 
at night in total darkness, began to be lighted for a few 
hours by lamps. The right of sanctuary, which still prac- 
tically existed in such quarters as Whitefriars and the 
Mint afforded to criminals an easy and safe retreat be- 
yond the reach of the law. The rougher elements of the 
upper as well as of the lower classes, made the streets 
impassable at night without great danger. They organ- 
ized themselves into bands, and committed atrocious and 
wanton brutalities on inoffensive passers-by. One band, 
called the Modocs, indulged in the amusement called 
" tipping the lion," which consisted in flattening the nose 
of the victim on his face and boring out his eyes with the 
fingers. There were also the " dancing masters," who 
made people dance by pricking them with swords, the 
" sweaters," who pricked their victims with swords till 
they fell exhausted, and the " tumblers," who set women 
on their heads and mutilated their limbs.' Others rolled 
women down hill in barrels, cut the faces of maid-ser- 
vants, and slit the noses of watchmen. The criminal 
classes became so daring and numerous that the streets 
were insecure even in the day-time. " It is shocking to 
think what a shambles this country is grown ! " wrote 
Walpole. " Seventeen were executed this morning, after 
having murdered the turnkey on Friday night, and al- 
most forced open Newgate. One is forced to travel even 
at noon, as if one were going to battle." " It was the 

' Lecky, " History of England in the i8th Century," vol. i. p. 522, 
■■"Walpole to Sir H. Mann, March 23, 1752. 



HIGHWAYMEN, l6l 

custom to go out at night accompanied by armed ser- 
vants. Addison gave an amusing description of the pre- 
cautions observed when Sir Roger de Coverley was taken 
to the theatre. " The Captain, who did not fail to meet 
me there at the appointed Hour, bid Sir Roger fear noth- 
ing, for that he had put on the same Sword wliich he 
made use of at the Battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's Ser-' 
vants, and among the rest my old Friend the Butler, had, 
I found, provided themselves with good oaken Plants to 
attend their Master upon this occasion. When we had 
placed him in his Coach, with myself at his left hand, the 
Captain before him, and his Butler at the Head of his 
Footmen in the Rear, we convoyed him in safety to the 
Playhouse." ' " One night, in the beginning of Novem- 
ber, 1749," wrote Walpole, "as I was returning from 
Holland House by moonlight, about ten at night, I was 
attacked by two highwaymen in Hyde Park, and the pis- 
tol of one of them going off accidentally, razed the skin 
under my left eye, left some marks of shot on my face, 
and stunned me.'"" These men were taken about a year 
later. " I have been in town for a day or two, and heard 
no conversation but about M'Lean, a fashionable high- 
wayman, who is just taken, and who robbed me among 
others. * * * His father was an Irish Dean ; his 
brother is a Calvinist minister in great esteem at the 
Hague. * * * He took to the road with only one 
companion, Plunkett, a journeyman apothecary, my 
other friend. * * * M'Lean had a lodging in St. 
James Street, over against White's, and another at Chel- 
sea ; Plunkett one in Jermyn St., and their faces are as 
well known about St. James' as any gentleman who 

^The Spectator, " Sir Roger at the Playhouse." 
"Horace Walpole, " Short Notes of My Life." 



1 62 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

lives in that quarter, and who, perhaps, goes upon the 
road too. M'Lean had a quarrel at Putney Bowling 
Green two months ago with an officer whom he chal- 
lenged for disputing his rank ; but the captain declined, 
till M'Lean should produce a certificate of his nobility, 
which he has just received. * * * As I conclude he 
will suffer, and wish him no ill, I don't care to have his 
idea, and am almost single in not having been to see him. 
Lord Mountford at the head of half White's went the 
first day : his aunt was crying over him : as soon as they 
were withdrawn she said to him, knowing they were of 
White's, ' My dear, what did the lords say to you ? 
Have you ever been concerned with any of them ? ' — was 
not it admirable ? What a favorable idea people must 
have of White's ! — and what if White's should not de- 
serve a much better ! But the chief personages who 
have been to comfort and weep over this fallen hero are 
Lady Caroline Petersham and Miss Asche : I call them 
Polly and Lucy." * 

The fact that death was the penalty for almost all 
serious violations of the law gave an additional zest to 
crime. The criminal looked upon himself, and was 
looked upon by others, as a brave man, and even those 
who abhorred the crime retained a certain admiration for 
the courage which they thought involved in its commis- 
sion. Felons sat erect and proud in the cart which car- 
ried them to execution. Their great ambition was to 
die like " gentlemen," and they saw no disgrace in death 
by " the ladder and the cord," so long as it was borne 
with bravado. Criminals are frequent and prominent 
characters in contemporary fiction. The period contrib- 
uted more than any other to the romance of crime, and a 

* Horace Walpole to Sir H. Mann, Aug. 2, 1750. 



PREVALENCE OF CRIME. 163 

glamour has been cast over the most infamous careers 
which has made them celebrated to the present day. 
The famous highwayman Dick Turpin, and one Parsons, 
the son of a baronet, educated at Eton, attained a public 
interest and admiration, in which the greatness of their 
crimes was forgotten in the dangers they incurred and 
the boldness with which they defied justice. When Jack 
Sheppard, the burglar, was finally captured after two re- 
markable escapes from Newgate,* he became a popular 
hero. Great numbers of people visited him in prison 
and gave him presents of money. Several lives were 
written of him. 

But the most remarkable criminal career, and that 
which best illustrates the inefficiency of the law and the 
impunity and ferocity of criminals, is that of Johnathan 
Wild, surnamed the Great.^ This man spent some time 
in Newgate, and having become acquainted with the se- 
crets and methods of its inhabitants, married a notorious 
woman who was well versed in similar knowledge. He 
then set up an establishment for receiving stolen goods, 
and organized thieves into regular bands. Some were to 
rob churches, others to pick pockets at theatres and fairs, 
others to rob on the streets and highways. He even 
divided the country into districts, and appointed a special 
gang to work in each. All these thieves were obliged to 
account to him for what they stole, and he disposed of it 
in London, or if that seemed too dangerous, he sent it 
abroad in a ship of his own. He attained over lesser 
criminals the most rigid authority and absolute power. 
His lieutenan,ts were chosen among transported convicts 
who had returned before the expiration of their terms. 

'See the " Newgate Calendar." 

^ See the " Newgate Calendar " and Pike's " History of Crime," vol. 2., 
chap. X. 



164 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

These were legally incapable of giving evidence against 
Wild, but he could send them to the gallows at a mo- 
ment's notice, if suspicious of their fidelity, by informa- 
tion to the authorities. Over the common thieves he 
had nearly the same power. Those whom he suspected 
of retaining part of their booty, or whom he feared as wit- 
nesses against himself, Avere at once sent to the gallows 
by private information to the magistrates. On the other 
hand, a thief who was in danger of arrest, if useful and 
faithful, was taken into Wild's own house, protected, fed, 
and employed in counterfeiting or other in-door occupa- 
tion. When a law was passed making it criminal to re- 
ceive stolen goods. Wild opened an intelligence of^ce for 
the discovery of missing articles. To that ofBce came 
the thieves, like so many workmen, to deliver their booty 
and receive their wages, and there, too, came the robbed 
to describe their losses and name their rewards. If the 
reward were sufficient to satisfy Wild, he returned the 
article ; otherwise he had it made unrecognizable by 
skilled workmen whom he employed for the purpose, 
and presented it to a faithful follower, or disposed of it in 
the regular course of business. It is impossible not to no- 
tice a certain resemblance between Johnathan Wild and 
Defoe's English Tradesman. The practical turn of mind, 
the absence of sentiment so characteristic of the times, 
are to be seen alike in the thief, the tradesman, and the 
gentleman. Conducted on purely business principles, 
like a mercer's shop or a marriage between noble fami- 
lies, without hatred or affection, anger or generosity, the 
work went on. Wild dealt in human lives with the same 
cold, money-making calculation which directed the dis- 
posal of a stolen watch. When public complaints were 
made, that although many robberies were committed few 



POLICE INEFFICIENCY. 1 65 

thieves were apprehended, Wild supplied the gallows 
with thieves who were useless to him or lukewarm in his 
interest. When a large reward was offered for the ap- 
prehension of a criminal, Wild was usually able to de- 
liver the man. If he was unable to do so, or was friendly 
to the criminal, he still secured the reward by giving false 
information against an innocent person, and supported 
his assertions by the perjury of his subordinates. By 
these methods he soon grew rich. He carried a silver 
wand which he asserted to be a badge of office given him 
by the government, and entered into secret leagues with 
corrupt magistrates. After a time he called himself a 
gentleman, and wore a sword, the first use of which was 
to cut off his wife's ear. At last he was detected in aid- 
ing the escape of a highwayman confined in Newgate, 
and being deprived of his power, he was easily convicted. 
He was hung in 1725, and on his way to the scaffold was 
almost pelted to death by the mob. 

The impunity with which Wild followed his long career 
of crime was not unusual. The authorities were inef- 
ficient and corrupt. Fielding, himself a police justice, 
makes a magistrate say in "Amelia ": " And to speak my 
opinion plainly, such are the laws and such the method 
of proceeding that one would almost think our laws were 
made for the protection of rogues, rather than for the 
punishment of them." The laws bore hardly upon the 
poor and spared the rich. "The parson," complained 
Defoe in the "Poor Man's Plea," " preaches a thundering 
sermon against drunkenness, and the justice of the peace 
sets my poor neighbor in the s^tocks, and I am like to be 
much the better for either, w4ien I know perhaps that 
this same parson and this same justice were both drunk 
together but the night before." The magistrates and con- 



l66 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

stables were as much in need of reform as tnt; laws, 
" The greatest criminals in this town," said Walpole,' "are 
the officers of justice ; there is no tyranny they do not 
exercise, no villany of which they do not partake." 
Many of the magistrates were never impartial, except, as 
Fielding said : " when they could get nothing on either 
side." One class of constables was described by Field- 
ing in "Amelia."^ The watchmen intended " to guard our 
streets by night from thieves and robbers, an office which 
at least requires strength of body, are chosen out of 
those poor old decrepit people, who are from their want 
of bodily strength rendered incapable of getting a live- 
lihood by work. These men, armed only with a pole, 
which some of them are scarce able to lift, are to secure 
the persons and houses of his Majesty's subjects from 
the attacks of young, bold, stout, desperate, and well- 
armed villains. If the poor old fellows should run awa}' 
from such enemies, no one, I think, can wonder, unless it 
be that they were able to make their escape." Defoe's 
pickpockets are always more afraid of being mobbed on 
the spot, than of being detected and punished by the 
police. Well-known highwaymen not infrequently rode 
through the streets of London with armed companions, 
although large rewards were offered for their capture. 
Many of the constables were of the most villanous char- 
acter. The following incident, recorded by Walpole, is 
only one of many instances of their brutality which 
might be mentioned.^ " There has lately been the most 
shocking scene of murder imaginable ; a parcel of drunken 
constables took it into their heads to put the laws in ex- 

^ Walpole to Mann, bet. July 14 and 29, 1742. 

' " Amelia," book i, chap. 2. 

^Walpole to Mann, bet. July 14 and 29, 1742. 



CONDITION OF THE PRISONS. 167 

ecution against disorderly persons, and so took up every 
woman they met till they had collected five or six and 
twenty, all of whom they thrust into St. Martin's 
round-house, where they kept them all night, with doors 
and windows closed. The poor creatures, who could not 
stir or breathe, screamed as long as they had any breath 
left, begging at last for water ; one poor wretch said she 
was worth eighteen-pence, and would gladly give it for a 
draught of water, but in vain ! So well did they keep 
them there, that in the morning four were found stifled 
to death ; two died soon after, and a dozen more are in a 
shocking way. In short, it is horrid to think what the 
poor creatures suffered. Several of them were beggars, 
who, from having no lodging, were necessarily found in 
the street, and others honest labouring women. One of 
the dead was a poor washer-woman, big with child, who 
was returning home late from washing. * * * These 
same men, the same night, broke into a bagnio in Covent 
Garden, and took up Jack Spencer, Mr. Stewart, and 
Lord George Graham, and would have thrust them into 
the round-house with the poor women if they had not 
been worth more than eighteen-pence ! " 

Keepers of prisons bought their places with the dis- 
tinct purpose of making money by extortions from the 
prisoners. The following is an account of the means 
pursued by Bainbridge, Warden of the Fleet, to extort 
money from one Solas, a poor man, imprisoned for 
debt ' : " Bainbridge caused him to be turned into the 
dungeon, called the Strong Room of the Master's side. 
This place is a vault, like those in which the dead are 

' Howell's " State Trials," vol. xvii, p. 298. Proceedings agaisnl John 
Nig£'.-tj, Esq., Warden of the Fleet, Thomas Bainbridge, Esq., Warden of 
the Fleet, Richard Corbett, one of the 1 ipstnffs of the Fleet, and William 
Acton, Keeper of the Alarshalsea Prison : 3 George 11, A.D. 1729. Repo.'t 
of the Com, of the House of Commons. 



1 68 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

interred, and wherein the bodies of persons dying in the 
said prison are usually deposited till the coroner's inquest 
hath passed upon them ; it has no chimney nor fireplace, 
nor any light but what comes over the door, or through 
a hole of about eight inches square. It is neither paved 
nor boarded ; and the rough bricks appear both on the 
sides and top, being neither wainscotted nor plastered ; 
what adds to the dampness and stench of the place, is 
its being built over the common sewer, and adjoining to 
the sink and dunghill where all the nastiness of the 
prison is cast. In this miserable place the poor wretch 
was kept by the said Bainbridge manacled and shackled 
for near two months. At length on receiving five 
guineas from Mr. Kemp, a friend of Solas's, Bainbridge 
released the prisoner from his cruel confinement. But 
though his chains were taken off, his terror still remained, 
and the unhappy man was prevailed upon by that terror, 
not only to labor gratis for the said Bainbridge, but to 
swear also at random all that he hath required of him ; 
and the committee themselves saw an instance of the 
deep impression his sufferings had made upon him ; for 
on his surmising from something said, that Bainbridge 
was to return again as Warden of the Fleet, he fainted, 
and the blood started out of his mouth and nose." This 
example is by no means an exceptional one. It is im- 
possible, within the limits of this volume, to give an 
adequate idea of the disease, the squalor, the cruelties 
and abuses which existed in the prisons. Their interiors 
are often described by the novelists, who were unable to 
exaggerate the actual circumstances. Poor prisoners, 
when acquitted, were dragged back to prison and kept 
there till their dues were paid or they were released by 
death. Richer men were subjected to all sorts of indig- 



STATE OF SOCIETY. 1 69 

nity and danger, even to that of small-pox, to force them 
to enrich their jailers. 

The social condition of England in the first half of the 
eighteenth century presents a material and unattractive 
aspect. Its most prominent characteristics are the cor- 
ruption and coarseness of the upper classes, and the 
ignorant brutality of the lower. Still there existed 
beneath this exterior, qualities and habits in the highest 
degree favorable to civilization and social order. At a 
later time these qualities brought about reforms which 
did away with many of the worst abuses. Among the 
middle classes, fast rising to political and social promi- 
nence, lived an earnest morality, which at a later time 
took form in the great Methodist revival, and the rise of 
philanthropy. The persevering industry of the same 
classes added enormously to the wealth of the nation. 
When reform came, it came as a revolt against existing 
conditions, showing at once how bad those conditions 
were, and how strongly the popular mind inclined to a 
better state. A general feeling of disgust prevailed 
which left deep traces on contemporary literature, and 
produced a widespread misanthropy. The first half of 
the eighteenth century was to the period of the Res- 
toration like the morning after a debauch. Rochester, in 
the time of Charles II, and Hervey, in the time of George 
II were representative men. The difference in the feel- 
ings with which these men looked upon life is significant. 
Rochester, in the full tide of dissipation, glories in his 
sensuality, and writes the " Maimed Debauchee." 

Should some brave youth (worth being drunk) prove nice. 

And from his fair inviter meanly shrink, 

'T would please the ghost of my departed vice. 

If, at my council, he repent and drink. 



170 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

But Hervey represents the time when dissipation had 
run a long course, and disgust, satiety, and misanthropy 
were succeeding. To him, as to Swift, men were " a 
worthless species of animals," their vices, natural ; their 
virtues, affectation : 

Mankind I know, their nature and their art, 
Their vice their own, their virtue but a part 
111 played so oft, that all the cheat can tell, 
And dangerous only when 't is acted well. 

To such reflections when I turn my minci 
/ loathe my being, and abhor mankind. 

II. 

Lord Hervey's bitter lines introduce us to Jonathan 
Swift. Nature, together with the character of his time, 
made the great Dean a misanthropist. Physical infirmity, 
disappointed hopes, and a long series of humiliations de. 
stroyed the happiness which should have belonged to his 
rare union of noble gifts, — his tall, commanding figure, 
his awe-inspiring countenance, his acute wit, and magnifi- 
cent intellect. Naturally proud and sensitive to an 
abnormal degree, he was obliged to suffer the most gall- 
ing slights. From his earliest years he hated dependence, 
and yet, until middle life he was forced to be a depend- 
ent. His education was furnished by the charity of 
relatives, between whom and himself there was no affec- 
tion. His college degree was conferred in a manner 
which made it a disgrace rather than an honor. The 
long years which he passed in the household of Sir 
William Temple, subject to the humors and caprices of 
his master, embittered his temper at the time of life 
when it should have been most buoyant and hopeful. 
Thus began the melancholy and misanthropy which 



yONATHAN SWIFT, I/I 

marred his whole life, darkening his triumphs, turning 
such love as he had to give into a curse to those who 
received it, producing an eccentricity which .often gave 
him the appearance of a madman, and finally bringing 
him to a terrible end — to die, as he himself foretold, like 
a blasted elm, first at the top. He kept his birthday as 
a day of mourning. He solemnly regretted his escape 
when nearly killed by an accident. He habitually parted 
from a friend with the wish that they might never meet 
again. Ciesar's description of Cassius is wonderfully ap- 
plicable to Swift : ' 

He reads much : 



He is a great observer, and he looks 

Quite through the deeds of men 

Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort, 
As if he mocked himself, and scom'd his spirit 
That could be moved to smile at any thing. 

The character of Swift presents great apparent contra- 
dictions. Although full of good-will and appreciation for 
individuals, although exercising out of a small income 
the most discriminating and open-handed generosity, 
there has never lived a man more bitter in his misan- 
thropy, more fierce in his denunciation of mankind. Al- 
though capable of great and disinterested affection, he 
was unable to make his affection a source of happiness 
to himself or to others. Although he always chose for 
companionship the most refined and cultivated women, 
the wisest and most honored men, his mind dwelt by 
preference on the most terrible examples of human 
depravity, and he gave permanent form, in his literary 
productions, to ideas from which a healthy mind must 

'"Julius Caesar," act i, sc. 2. Quoted in Scott's "Life of Swift." For 
Swift, see also ' ' Life " by Sheridan, by Roscoe, and by Forster. 



1 72 niS TOR y OF ENGLISH FIC TION. 

always turn with horror and disgust. His misanthropy 
was founded partly on observation of the evil and cor- 
ruption which he saw about him, and partly on the sus- 
picions and exaggerations of his own imagination. He 
gave up writing a history of England, because, in his own 
words, he found the characters of history such a pack of 
rascals that he would have no more to say to them. He 
made a "List of Friends," which he classified as Grateful, 
Ungrateful, Indifferent, and Doubtful. Of these friends, 
forty-four in number, only seventeen were marked with 
the ^ which signified that their friendship was trusted. 
We cannot disassociate Swift from his own time, nor can 
we attribute simply to a melancholy life or to mental ab- 
erration the revolting conceptions which his works con- 
tain. The coarseness and corruption which marked the 
private and public life "of Swift's day had their share in 
the production of such poems as The "Lady's Dressing- 
Room," and such degrading views of human nature as 
are expressed in the "Voyage to the Houyhnhnms." 

It is a significant sign of the times that Hogarth, the 
greatest English painter, and Swift, the greatest English 
writer, should have employed their talents in caricature 
and in satire. ,In the wonderful allegory of the " Tale of 
a Tub," in which the corruptions and failings of the Eng- 
lish, Roman, and Presbyterian churches were ridiculed in 
the persons of Jack, Peter, and Martin, Swift displayed 
at an early age his exuberant wit and surpassing satirical 
power. The "Tale of a Tub" was succeeded by the 
" Battle of the Books," an imaginary conflict between 
volumes in a library, which exposed the absurdity of the 
controversy over the relative merits of the ancients and 
the moderns. But Swift's satire became most fierce and 
brilliant when it was turned from rival creeds and rival 
literatures, and directed toward mankind itself. 



''GULLIVER'S TRAVELS." 1/3 

The " Travels of Lemuel Gulliver " were dropped, said 
the publisher, at his house, in the dark, from a hackney- 
coach. In regard to this work, the Dean followed his 
custom of sending out his writings to the world to make 
their way on their own merits, without the assistance of 
his name. But the authorship of the book could not long 
remain unknown before the storm of applause and curi- 
osity which it immediately excited. It was a production, 
said Johnson,' " so new and strange that it filled the 
reader with a mingled emotion of merriment and amaze- 
ment. It was received with such avidity, that the price 
of the first edition was raised before the second could 
be made ; it was read by the high and the low, the learned 
and illiterate. Criticism was for a while lost in wo^nder ; 
no rules of judgment were applied to a book written in 
open defiance of truth and regularity." Whether read 
for the satire or the story, the adventures of Gulliver 
proved equally fascinating. They " offered personal and 
political satire to the readers in high life, low and coarse 
incidents to the vulgar, marvels to the romantic, wit to 
the young and lively, lessons of morality and policy to 
the grave, and maxims of deep and bitter misanthropy 
to neglected age and disappointed ambition." "^ 

The early part of the eighteenth century offered rich 
material to the satirist, and Swift brought to his work 
unparalleled fierceness and power. He attacked the 
corruption of the politician and the minister, the 
vanity and vice of the courtier, the folly and extrava- 
gance of the fashionable world, and gathering venom in 
his course, made his satire universal, and painted the 
pettiness and deformity of the human race. But among 

' " Life of Swift." 

*SirW. Scott. "Life of Swift." 



1/4 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

the follies and vices of mankind, vanity was the fault 
most offensive to Swift, and that which he lashed with 
his most bitter invective. To ridicule human pride, and 
to expose its inconsistency with the imperfection of man, 
is the ruling object of his great satirical romance. On 
Gulliver's return to England from the land of the Hou- 
yhnhnms, where, under the degraded form of Yahoos, 
he had studied mankind as they appeared when influ- 
enced by all human vices and brutal instincts unveiled 
by hypocrisy or civilization, he describes his horror at 
observing the existence of vanity among his countrymen 
who resembled the Yahoos so closely : — 

My reconcilement to the Yahoo kind in general might not 
be so difficult, if they would be content with those vices and 
follies only which nature has entitled them to. ' I am not in the 
least provoked at the sight of a lawyer, a pickpocket, a 
colonel, a fool, a lord, a gamester, a politician, a whoremonger, 
a physician, an evidence, a suborner, an attorney, a traitor, or 
the like ; this is all according to the due course of things : but 
when I behold a lump of deformity and diseases, both in body 
and mind, smitten with pride, it immediately breaks all the 
measures of my patience ; neither sha'l I ever be able to com- 
prehend how such an animal, and such a vice, could tally 
together. 

In the "Voyage to LilHput " the follies and vanities of 
individuals and of parties are ridiculed by the represen- 
tation of their practice among diminutive beings. Sir 
Robert Walpole suffered in the person of Flimnap the 
Lilliputian Premier, Tories and Whigs in the High-Heels 
and Low-Heels, Catholics and Protestants in the Big- 
endians and Small-endians. In the " Voyage to Brob- 
dingnag," where Gulliver finds himself a pigmy among 



' ' BROBDINGNA G." 1/5 

giants, the general object of the satire is the same, but 
its appUcation becomes more bitter and universal. 
Characteristics of the human race hardly perceptible in 
their ordinary proportions, attain a disgusting and mon- 
strous prominence when seen in the huge persons of the 
Brobdingnagians. The king of this gigantic people is 
represented as a beneficent monarch, who directs all his 
energies toward the peace, prosperity, and material 
advancement of his subjects ; who seeks with a cold, 
calculating mind, undisturbed by passion or prejudice, 
the greatest good of the greatest number. To this 
monarch Gulliver gave a description of his native 
country: " I artfully eluded many of his questions, and 
gave to every point a more favorable turn, by many 
degrees, than the strictness of truth would allow ; for I 
have always borne that laudable partiality to my own 
country, which Dionysius Halicarnassensis, with so much 
justice, recommends to a historian : I would hide the 
frailties and deformities of my political mother, and 
place her virtues and beauties in the most advantageous 
light." But the impression produced upon the King of 
Brobdingnag by Gulliver's relation expressed the wide- 
spread sense of evil which existed in Swift's day, which 
tinctured literature with misanthropy, and made Rous- 
seau at a later time argue the superiority of the savage 
man over his civilized, but corrupt and hypocritical 
brother. 

He was perfectly astonished with the historical account I 
gave him of our affairs during the last century ; protesting : " It 
was only a heap of conspiracies, rebellions, murders, massacres, 
revolutions, banishments, the very worst effects that avarice, 
faction, hypocrisy, perfidiousness, cruelty, rage, madness, ha- 
tred, envy, lust, malice, and ambition could produce." 



176 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION: 

His majesty, in another audience, was at the pains to reca- 
pitulate the sum of all I had spoken ; compared the questions 
he made with the answers I had given ; then, taking me into 
his hands, and stroking me gently, delivered himself in these 
words, which I shall never forget, nor the manner he spoke 
them in : " My little friend, Grildrig, you have made a most 
admirable panegyric upon your country ; you have clearly 
proved that ignorance, idleness, and vice are the proper in- 
gredients for qualifying a legislator ; that laws are best ex- 
plained, interpreted, and applied by those whose interest and 
abilities lie in perverting, confounding, and eluding them. I 
observe among you some lines of an institution, which in its 
original, might have been tolerable, but these half erased, and 
the rest wholly blurred and blotted by corruptions. It does 
not appear from all you have said, how any one perfection is 
required toward the procurement of any one station among you ; 
much less, that men are ennobled on account of their virtue; that 
priests are advanced for their piety or learning ; soldiers for 
their conduct or valor ; judges for their integrity ; senators for 
the love of their country ; or counsellors for their wisdom. 
* * * I cannot but conclude the bulk of your natives to be 
the most pernicious race of little odious vermin that nature 
ever suffered to crawl upon the surface of the earth ! 

In the voyage to Laputa the satire is directed against 
the vanity of human wisdom, and the folly of abandoning 
useful occupations for the empty schemes of visionaries. 
The philosophers of Laputa had allowed their land to run 
to waste, and their people to fall into poverty in their at- 
tempts to " soften marble for pillows and pin-cushions," to 
" petrify the hoofs of a living horse to prevent them from 
foundering," to " sow land with chaff," and to "extract 
sunbeams from cucumbers, which were to be put in phials 
hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw, 
inclement summers." The satire cannot be considered 



THE YAHOOS. 1 7/ 

too broad when we consider the folly and credulity 
which, at the time of the South Sea mania, led many 
persons into sinking their whole fortunes in such enter- 
prises as the company "To Fish up Wrecks on the Irish 
Coast," to " Make Salt-Water Fresh," to " Extract Silver 
from Lead," and to " Import Jackasses from Spain." 

It is impossible within the limits of this volume to i 
comment with any completeness on the application of 
Gulliver's Travels. The satire gathered strength and bit- 
terness in its progress, until the limits of horror were 
reached in the voyage to the Houyhnhnms. This por- 
tion of the work cannot be considered to apply univer- 
sally. Man does not here perceive a truthful reflection 
of himself. The Houyhnhnms, beings endowed with rea- 
son, but undisturbed and untempted by the passions or 
struggles of an earthly existence, are not brutes, and are 
not to be compared with men. The Yahoos, in their 
total depravity, are not human ; they represent, and that 
with a terrible truthfulness, the condition into which men 
may fall when their animal instincts and baser passions 
are allowed to entirely subvert their reason and noble 
qualities. The more a man suffers his better to yield to 
his lower nature, the more he resembles the detestable 
Yahoo. In this sense only, the satire applies generally 
to mankind ; but it applies with peculiar point to some 
characteristics of Swift's time. In reading the following 
passage, it is impossible not to be reminded of the treat- 
ment of Sir Robert Walpole by his former flatterers and 
sycophants when his power seemed at an end : 

Some curious Houyhnhnms observe that in most herds there 
was a sort of ruling Yahoo, * * * •<ff\\Q was always more 
deformed in body and mischievous in disposition than any of 
the rest ; that this leader had usually a favorite as like himself 



178 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION, 

as he could get, whose employment was to lick his master's 
feet * * * and drive the female Yahoos to his kennel ; 
for which he was now and then rewarded with a piece of ass's 
flesh. This favorite is hated by the whole herd, and, therefore, 
to protect himself, keeps always near the person of his leader. 
He usually continues in office till a worse can be found ; but 
the very moment he is discarded, his successor, at the head of 
all the Yahoos in that district, young and old, male and female, 
come in a body, and * * * (defile) him from head to 
foot. 

But Swift, in his denunciation of men under the form 
of the Yahoos, disclosed the narrowness of his own mis- 
anthropy. When Gulliver has returned from his last 
voyage, with a mind which had dwelt on the beastliness 
and vice of the human race as it existed in the land of 
the Houyhnhnms, his warped judgment is unable to dis- 
cern in his countrymen any attributes but those which 
they seem to share with the Yahoos : — 

My wife and family received me with great surprise and joy, 
because they concluded me certainly dead ; but I must freely 
confess the sight of them filled me only with hatred, disgust, 
and contempt ; and the more, by reflecting on the near alliance 
I had to them. * * * As soon as I entered the house, my 
wife took me in her arms and kissed me ; at which, having not 
been used to the touch of that odious animal for so many 
years, I fell into a swoon for almost an hour. At the time I 
am writing, it is five years since my last return to England : 
during the first year, I could not endure my wife or children in 
my presence ; the very smell of them was intolerable, much less 
could I suffer them to eat in the same room. To this hour they 
dare not presume to touch my bread, or drink out of the same 
cup ; neither was I ever able to let one of them take me by the 
hand. 



GULLIVER'S TRAVELS. 1 79 

Thus, Swift himself, from the vividness with which he 
reah'zed, and the intensity with which he hated, the vices 
and faihngs of humanity, was unable to duly appreciate 
the good, which, in some measure, always accompanies 
the evil. 

It was the habit of the great Dean to utter the witti- 
cisms which caused the continual delight or terror of all 
who approached him with the most stern composure. 
Such was the manner of the " Travels." The solemn 
and circumstantial narrative style, imitated from the old 
English explorers, added verisimilitude to the incidents 
and point to the sarcasm. Trifles, personal to the trav- 
eller and of no consequence to the course of the story, 
gave an appearance of truth to the whole work. Thus 
Gulliver keeps the reader informed of the most minute 
details interesting to himself. " I took part of a small 
house in the Old Jewry ; and being advised to alter my 
condition, I married Mrs. Mary Burton, second daughter 
to Mr. Edmund Burton, hosier, in Newgate Street, with 
whom I received four hundred pounds /or a portion." In 
the same way he informs us carefully that the date of his 
sailing on the first voyage was May 4, 1699, from Bristol, 
and the storm which destroyed the ship arose when in 
the latitude of 30 degrees 2 minutes south. In a work 
of fiction only such events are expected as have a direct 
bearing upon the development of the plot, and when im- 
material details are introduced, the reader is likely to be 
impressed with their truth. In this way the personality 
of Gulliver is kept up, and he remains, through whatever 
strange scenes he passes, the same honest, blunt English 
sailor. 

Yet rrtore remarkable is the skill of the author in main- 
taining the probability of the allegory. When living 



1 80 HI ST OR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

among the Lilliputians, Gulliver insensibly adopts their 
ideas of size. He admires as much as they the prowess 
of the horseman who clears his shoe at a single leap. 
When the committee of the Lilliputian king examine 
Gulliver's pockets, they describe his handkerchief as a 
" great piece of coarse cloth, large enough to be a foot- 
cloth to your majesty's chief room of state" ; his purse 
is " a net, almost large enough for a fisherman," contain- 
ing " several massy pieces of yellow metal, which, if they 
be real gold, must be of immense value." The same al- 
most mathematical accuracy of proportion is kept up in 
the visit to Brobdingnag, and on Gulliver's return to his 
native country he experiences as much trouble in reac- 
customing his mind to the ordinary standard as he had 
met with in adopting that of pigmies or giants. There 
was a country clergyman living in Ireland, who declared 
there were some things in Gulliver's Travels he could not 
quite believe. His difficulty probably occurred in the 
"Voyage to the Houyhnhnms." In the latter part of the 
work Swift allowed the fiction to yield to the exigencies 
of the satire. So long as we can imagine the existence 
of giants and pigmies, it is easy to realize all the circum- 
stances connected with Gulliver's existence among them, 
but it is impossible to feel the same sense of reality in re- 
gard to horses who live in houses they could not build, 
and who eat oats they could not harvest.' 

The general desire for reform is not more clearly to be 
seen in Acts of Parliament than in the works of Swift 
and Addison. The earlier part of the century was 
marked by a strong realization of evil, and by a constant- 
ly growing inclination to suppress it. The first condition 
is illustrated by the fierce satire of " Gulliver's TVavels," 

' See " Life of Swift," by Scott. 



ADDISON. l8l 

the second by the earnest admonitions of the Spectator. 
The two great authors make a striking contrast. Swift, 
misanthropic, miserable, bitter ; Addison, happy, loving 
mankind, admired alike by ally and opponent. Swift, 
dying mad ; Addison, calm, conscious, employing his last 
moments to ask pardon of one he had offended. The 
same contrast is in their works. Swift dwelt and gloated 
on the evil about him, exposed it in more than its own 
deformity, and left his reader to reflect on his own deg- 
radation. Addison, to whom that evil was almost equally 
apparent, but who turned from its contemplation with 
horror, exerted all his talents to correct it. "The great 
and only end of these speculations," he tells the reader 
of the Spectator, " is to banish vice and ignorance out of 
the territories of Great Britain." 

With solemn reproof and delicate raillery, Addison 
urged women to lay aside coarseness and folly, and 
preached against the licentiousness, swearing, gambling, 
duelling, and drunkenness of the men. He attacked 
with both argument and ridicule the idea so prevalent 
since the Restoration, that vice was necessarily associated 
with pleasure and elegance, virtue with Puritanism and 
vulgarity. To teach people to be witty without being 
indecent, gay without being vicious, such was the object 
of Addison. As M. Taine says, he made morality fash- 
ionable. To do this he exposed the folly and ugliness of 
vice. But he did more. He held up to the public view 
characters who exemplified his teachings, and were cal- 
culated to attract imitation. In the creation and deline- 
ation of these characters he unconsciously began the 
English novel. 

We should look in vain in the pages of Fielding, of 
Scott, or of George Eliot, for a more perfect sketch of 



1 82 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

character than that of Sir Roger de Coverley. And 
the minor personages are little less delicately and natur- 
ally drawn. There is the Bachelor of the Inner-Temple, 
" an excellent critick," to whom " the time of the play is 
his hour of business " ; Sir Andrew Freeport, the typi- 
cal merchant; Captain Sentry, "a gentleman of great 
courage, good understanding, but invincible modesty"; 
Will Honeycomb, " an honest, worthy man where women 
are not concerned " ; the clergyman, who has ceased to 
have "interests in this world, as one who is hastening to 
the object of all his wishes, and conceives hope from his 
decays and infirmities." "These are my ordinary com- 
panions," says the Spectator, whom we soon learn to 
know very well too. 

Addison's knowledge of human nature, and his skill in 
delineating it in single touches, place him in the front 
rank of writers of fiction, notwithstanding the limit of 
his contributions to this department of literature. In a 
few words we are made to see and know the Quaker who 
reproves the insolent captain on the stage-coach : " Thy 
mirth, friend, savoureth of folly ; thou art a person of 
a light mind ; thy drum is a type of thee, it soundeth 
because it is empty." There is nothing wanting to the 
reader's perfect acquaintance with Will Wimble, the 
poor relation. All who know Worcestershire, says the 
Spectator, " are very well acquainted with the parts and 
merits of Sir Roger." His fame has spread from Wor- 
cestershire throughout the English-speaking world, where 
he has been loved and admired for more than a hundred 
and fifty years. Sir Roger de Coverley is not to be de- 
scribed by any pen but that of Addison. He exhibits, 
joined to a perfect simplicity, the qualities of a just, 
honest, useful man, and delightful companion. Our ao- 



DANIEL DEFOE. 1 83 

quaintance with him is a personal one. We know how 
he appears at his country-house, surrounded by ad- 
miring tenants and servants, and how he occupies him- 
self in London, and whom he meets there. We know 
his ancestry, the extent and management of his es- 
tate, his long standing love affair with the beautiful 
widow, all his thoughts, opinions, and surroundings. 
All who read about Sir Roger remember him with affec- 
tion. Addison dwelt with tenderness on every detail 
regarding him, and finally described Sir Roger's death 
to prevent any less reverential pen from trifling with 
his hero. 

Previous to the publication of the papers of the Spec- 
tator relating to Sir Roger de Coverley, there had been 
no attempt at what is a necessary constituent of the 
modern novel — the study of character. There had been 
the romance and the allegory. There had been the short 
love story. But with Addison, nature becomes the sub- 
ject of fiction, and the novel is begun. 

In a review of the remarkable life of Daniel Defoe, he 
appears to us under the varied aspects of a tradesman, a 
pamphleteer, a politician, a novelist, and, through it all, a 
reformer. It is in his character as a novelist that he is 
now known, and that he is to be considered here. But 
there are few among the millions to whom " Robinson 
Crusoe " has brought pleasure, who know that the com- 
position of that work was only one event in a long life of 
ceaseless labor, political and literary, and that its author's 
fame among his contemporaries was assured independ- 
ently of it. Defoe's career was so full that both his 
chief biographers' have found three large volumes to be 
necessary to do it justice. And yet it was not until near 
' Wilson, " Li{e of Defoe." Lee, " Life of Defoe." 



1 84 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

the end of that busy life, when the author was fifty-eight 
years old, feeling the approach of age and infirmity, and 
looking about for means to provide for a large family, 
that he added the writing of novels to his multifarious 
occupations. 

There is probably no writer with whose works his life 
and personality are more intimately connected. It is 
impossible to consider the one separate from the other. 
Defoe began to write novels as a tradesman, as a literary 
hack, and as a reformer. Being dependent on his pen 
for his bread, he wrote what was likely to bring in the 
most immediate return. He calculated exactly the value 
and quality of his wares. He gave to his fictions the 
same moral object which inspired his own life. His 
novels followed naturally on his other labors, and par- 
took of their character. It was his custom, on the death 
of any celebrated person, to write his life immediately, 
and to send it to the world while public interest was still 
fresh. But being often unable to obtain complete or 
authentic information concerning the subject of his 
biography, he supplemented facts and rumors by plaus- 
ible inventions. Fiction entered into his biographies, 
just as biography afterward entered into his novels. 
But in writing the lives of real individuals Defoe recog- 
nized the necessity of impressing his reader with a sense 
of the truth and exactitude of the narrative. This effect 
he attained by the use of a literary faculty which he pos- 
sessed in a degree unequalled by any other writer — that 
of circumstantial invention. By the multiplication of 
small, unimportant details, each one of which is carefully 
dwelt upon, and by the insertion of uninteresting per- 
sonal incidents and moral reflections, seeming true from 
their very dulness, he gave to his work a remarkable 



DANIEL DEFOE. 1 8$ 

verisimilitude. He did not even issue the book under 
his own name, but invented an authorship which would 
attract attention and credibility. Thus the " History of 
Charles XII " was announced on the title-page as 
"written by a Scot's gentleman in the Swedish ser- 
vice " ; and the " Life of Count Patkul " was " written 
by a Lutheran minister who assisted him in his last 
hours, and faithfully translated out of a High Dutch 
manuscript." ' The same characteristics appear in all 
Defoe's works. He invents freely, giving the most 
elaborate details to support his assertions, and attains to 
an extraordinary degree the art of " lying like truth." 
In the " Journal of the Plague Year," Defoe assumed 
with his accustomed ease and skill the character of a 
plain, blunt London shopkeeper. He described with 
such apparent accuracy the observations of a man who 
had lived in the scene of that terrible calamity, giving 
curious incidents, anecdotes, statistics, after so methodi- 
cal a manner, that it was long before any doubts were 
cast on the authenticity of the journal. It was a work 
of imagination, but so matter-of-fact, that it is difficult 
to believe the author had any imagination, and that he 
had not actually witnessed every occurrence he so calmly 
related. It is the same with the " Memoirs of a Cavalier," 
The civil wars are described by a young officer who took 
part in them, who gives a detailed account of his own 
opinions, his wardrobe, his horse, his lodgings. Lord 
Chatham quoted these memoirs as the true account of an 
eye-witness. From writing the life of a well-known indi- 
vidual, Defoe had advanced to writing the life of a ficti- 
tious person placed amidst historical scenes. His next 

' See " Daniel Defoe," by William Minto, p. 135. American edi- 
tion. 



1 86 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

step was to write the life of a fictitious person amidst 
fictitious scenes.' 

The " Journal of the Plague Year " had oeen issued to 
satisfy a popular interest excited by the appearance of 
the plague in France and the consequent fear of it in 
England. A similar public demand occasioned the com- 
position of " Robinson Crusoe." A sailor named Alex- 
ander Selkirk had been " marooned " on the uninhabited 
island of Juan Fernandez, and after living there alone for 
more than four years, had been taken off by the same 
captain who had abandoned him. The interest taken in 
England in the narrative of this event revealed to Defoe's 
acute mind a great literary of^portunity. But if he was 
indebted to the adventure of Selkirk for the fundamental 
idea of his novel, he was not the less original. Never has 
a greater individuality been given to a fictitious character, 
or a more vivid impression of life and reality to the cir- 
cumstances surrounding him. The combination of in- 
genuity and simplicity which distinguishes the work, has, 
for a century and a half, had a peculiar fascination for 
children, and has awakened the wonder and admiration 
of men. There are three works of English fiction of 
imperishable interest, all of which have attained in a 
high degree the quality of reality, and have charmed 
alike all classes and ages. In the allegory of " The Pil- 
grim's Progress," the sense of reality was produced by 
the intense realization of the subject by the author, un- 
assisted by any literary device. In " Gulliver's Travels " 
the effect was attained by a skilful observation of exact 
proportions, added to a circumstantial and personal 
method of narration, which Swift probably owed in some 

» William Minto, " Life of Defoe," p. 134 :— "From writing biographies 
with real names attached to them, it was but a short step to writing biogra- 
phies with fictitious names." 



''J^OBINSON CRUSOE" 1 8/ 

measure to Defoe. If the reader can accept the possible 
existence of pigmies and giants, his credulity is put to no 
further strain. Defoe had no difficulty of the supernatural 
to overcome. He had a power almost as great as that of 
Bunyan of identifying himself with his hero ; and he sur- 
passed Swift in the power of circumstantial invention. 

The story of '' Robinson Crusoe " is too intimately 
known to require comment. His over-mastering desire 
to go to sea, his being cast up by the breakers on the 
island, his endless labors, and the resolute determination 
which overcame them, his dangers, fears, and the con- 
solation of religion, the foot-print on the sand, the com- 
panionship with Friday, and the final release, are recol- 
lections of our childhood too familiar to be dwelt upon. 
But in this very familiarity with Robinson himself, in 
the brightness and endurance of our idea of him, in our 
acquaintance with the inmost workings of his mind and 
heart, is contained the evidence that Defoe not only wrote 
a novel of adventure, as he had intended, but that he 
wrote also a novel of character. 

If the author of " Robinson Crusoe " could realize so 
thoroughly the difificulties and expedients of a man living 
on a desert island, he could deal yet more easily with the 
adventures and shifts of thieves and abandoned women 
which formed the subject of his other tales. In these 
minor works, now little known, Defoe displayed equal 
talents, but did not attain equal results. The enduring 
interest which must ever attach to the central idea of 
" Robinson Crusoe " — the complete isolation of the man — 
gave that work a very exceptional claim to the attention 
of posterity. But it had other merits, which are not 
apparent in the same perfection in Defoe's lesser novels. 
Its design was single and concentrated, its chief charac- 



1 88 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

ter natural and strongly marked, its plot coherent and 
complete. Moll Flanders and Colonel Jack are indeed 
well-drawn and real persons, and the design of the works 
which bear their names is clear, but in both cases the 
plot is merely a series of independent adventures, and 
the characters themselves could not, from their nature, 
long attract the attention of readers. " Colonel Jack," 
"Captain Singleton," " Moll Flanders," and " Roxana," 
have been surpassed, and are neglected, " Robinson 
Crusoe " is, of its kind, perfect, and therefore enduring. 

But the works of Defoe have a historical, almost equal 
to their literary, interest. Whoever would attain a cor- 
rect idea of the condition of the lower classes in the earli- 
er part of the eighteenth century, should consult " Mol'l 
Flanders " and " Colonel Jack," as much as the " New- 
gate Calendar," and histories of crime and labor. What 
the author has described, he had seen. 

Defoe was throughout his life a reformer ; a large pro- 
portion of the many pamphlets and occasional writings 
which fell from his pen have for their object the reforma- 
tion or exposure of some abuse. Yet a large number of 
his fictitious characters are thieves and harlots. The 
criminal classes occupied the public mind in the first half 
of the eighteenth century to a remarkable degree, and 
Defoe was not mistaken in thinking that novels concern- 
ing those classes would interest and sell. He knew that 
the public taste was low, and his business was to cater to 
public taste. He said, in " More Reformation " : ' 

Let this describe the nation's character, 
One man reads Milton, forty Rochester; 
The cause is plain, the temper of the time. 
One wrote the lewd, the other the sublime. 



' " Memoir of Defoe," William Hazlitt, p. 30. 



''MOLL FLANDERS." 1 89 

To satisfy the forty who read Rochester, Defoe de- 
scribed the lives and occupations of pirates, pickpockets, 
highwaymen, and women of abandoned character. The 
title-pages of some of these novels cannot with decency 
be quoted, and the novels themselves are filled with crimi- 
nal and licentious scenes. But the reforming inclination 
of Defoe himself, and that which we find in the general 
literature of the time, induced him to turn these scenes 
to a moral account. Moll Flanders is a low, cunning, 
thoroughly bad woman, and her life is placed quite bare 
before the reader. Yet Defoe asserts that the book is de- 
signed to teach a good lesson.' " There is not a superlative 
villain brought upon the stage, but either he is brought to 
an unhappy end, or brought to be a penitent. There is not 
an ill thing mentioned, but it is condemned even in the 
relation ; nor a virtuous, just thing, but it carries its 
praise along with it. * * * Upon this foundation 
the book is recommended to the reader, as a work from 
every part of which something may be learned, and some 
just and religious inference is drawn." Defoe, thor- 
oughly a man of his time, thought that he could put the 
coarsest and most vicious matter before his reader, and 
reasonably expect him to profit by the moral, without be- 
ing hurt by contact with the vice. " All possible care," 
he says, " has been taken to give no lewd ideas, no immod- 
est turns in the dressing up of this story. * * * 'Pq 
this purpose some of the vicious part of her life, which 
could not be modestly told, is quite left out, and several 
other parts very much shortened. What is left, 'tis hoped 
will not offend the chastest reader, or the modestest 
hearer." To any one acquainted with " Moll Flanders" 
this seems a strange statement. It exhibits the standard 

*See the preface to " Moll Flanders." 



190 HISTORY OF ENGLISH fiction: 

of the age. Mrs. Behn said almost the same thing about 
her novels and plays. To make up for the low, vicious 
life unrolled before us, it is not enough that Moll at last 
" grew rich, lived honest, and died penitent." 

The aim of " Roxana, or the Fortunate Mistress," like 
that of " Moll Flanders," is to describe the gradual cor- 
ruption of a woman, who is influenced by some conscien- 
tious scruples and misgivings, but the heroine is placed 
in a higher station of life. We have a curious commen- 
tary on the times in comparing the body of the work with 
the preface. " Roxana " is among the coarsest records of 
vice in English fiction. But yet it is to impart moral 
instruction. " In the manner she has told the story it is 
evident she does not insist upon her justification in any part 
of it ; much less does she recommend her conduct, or, in- 
deed, any part of it, except her repentance, to our imita- 
tion. On the contrary, she makes frequent excursions, 
in a just censuring and condemning her own practice. 
How often does she reproach herself in the most passion- 
ate manner, and guide us to make just reflections in the 
like cases?" The modern reader is astonished to find 
" that all imaginable care has been taken to keep clear of 
indecencies and immodest expressions ; and, it is hoped, 
you will find nothing to prompt a vicious mind, but 
everywhere much to discourage and expose it." 

Defoe is much more successful in teaching a moral les- 
son in " Colonel Jack." The aim of this novel is to de- 
scribe the course of a street-boy who takes to thieving be- 
fore he knows that it is not a legitimate business, and 
who being possessed naturally of a good character is 
brought to repentance and reform when subjected to bet- 
ter influences. Defoe's preface has great significance 
when we consider the deplorable condition of the lower 



"COLONEL JACK." I9I 

classes, and no better idea can be gained of the usual fate 
of the children of the poor than is afforded by this 
novel: 

Here is room for just and copious observations on the 
blessings and advantages of a sober and well-governed educa- 
tion, and the ruin of so many thousands of all ranks in this 
Nation for want of it ; here also we may see how much public 
schools and charities might be improved, to prevent the de- 
struction of so many unhappy children, as, in this town, are 
every year bred up for the executioner. 

The miserable condition of multitudes of youth, many of 
whose natural tempers are docibie, and would lead them to 
learn the best things, rather than the worst, is truly deplorable, 
and is abundantly seen in the history of this man's childhood ; 
where, though circumstances formed him by necessity to be a 
thief, surprising rectitude of principles remained with him, and 
made him early abhor the worst part of his trade, and at length 
to forsake the whole of it. Had he come into the world with 
the advantage of a virtuous education, and been instructed how 
to improve the generous principles he had in him, what a 
figure might he not have made, either as a man or a Chris- 
tian. 

The promise of the preface is fulfilled. The whole 
work is a protest against the neglect of the education 
and training of the youth of the lower classes; and the 
life of Colonel Jack would be apt to have a good 
effect on youthful readers of the time. In Chapter X, 
when Jack has risen by his industry and humanity from 
being a slave on a Virginia plantation to the rank of an 
overseer, and finally to that of an independent planter, 
he makes a long digression to rejoice in his change of 
condition and character: 



192 HISTOR V OF ENGLISfl FICTION. 

It was an inexpressible joy to me, that I was now like to be 
not only a man, but an honest man ; and it yielded me a 
greater pleasure, that I was ransomed from being a vagabond, 
a thief, and a criminal, as I had been from a child, than that I 
was delivered from slavery, and the wretched state of a Vir- 
ginia sold servant ; I had notion enough in my mind of the 
hardship of the servant or slave, because I had felt it, and 
worked through it ; I remembered it as a state of labour and 
servitude, hardship and suffering. But the other shocked my 
very nature, chilled my blood, and turned the very soul within 
me ; the thought of it was like reflections upon hell and the 
damned spirits ; it struck me with horror, it was odious and 
frightful to look back on, and it gave me a kind of fit, a con- 
vulsion or nervous disorder, that was very uneasy to me. 

These reflections remind us of the self-communings of 
Bunyan in " Grace Abounding in the Chief of Sinners." 
They express the feelings of remorse and the longings 
for a better state arising in the mind of a rough but con- 
scientious man. They are the promptings of a strong 
moral nature, and illustrate those national qualities which 
brought about the reforms which distinguish the latter 
half of the eighteenth century. Colonel Jack took ad- 
vantage of every opportunity for improvement. When 
a vagabond in Scotland, he learned with infinite pains to 
read and write. When a planter in Virginia, he took for 
his schoolmaster a transported felon, who knew Latin. 
This spirit of self-advancement by patient labor, by in- 
vincible resolution, is the spirit of Defoe's writings ; it is 
the English characteristic which has raised the nation to 
all its prosperity and greatness. 

When " Robinson Crusoe " had attained celebrity, 
Defoe claimed that it was an allegory of his own life. A 
parallel might easily be drawn between the isolation of 



\/ 



MRS. HEY WOOD. I93 

the solitary sailor on his island, and that of the perse- 
cuted author in the heart of a great city. All the world, 
and particularly his literary brethren, had been against 
Defoe. Pope had put him into the " Dunciad," Swift 
had spoken of him as " the fellow who was pilloried, I 
forget his name." He had known oppression and pov- 
erty, the pillory and the prison. He has left us his own 
view of the aim of " Robinson Crusoe." ' " Here is in- 
vincible patience recommended under the worst of mis- 
ery; indefatigable application and undaunted resolution 
under the greatest and most discouraging circumstances." 
And such is the moral of Defoe's own life. 

Mrs. Heywood had written a number of stories ^ re- 
sembling, in the licentiousness of their character and the 
flimsiness of their construction, the novels of Mrs. Behn. 
Toward the end of her life she wrote " Miss Betsey 
Thoughtless," which is believed to have suggested to Miss 
Burney some of the incidents in " Evelina." This novel 
was exceedingly popular, and had some merit, considering 
the period of its composition. It is among the earliest 
specimens of a domestic novel ; the plot has interest, and 
the characters are life-like. It illustrates, if any illustra- 
tion were needed, the prevailing absence of any elevated 
view, either of love, or of the relations between men and 
women. The book is made up of easy seductions and 
licentious talk, and represents its youthful characters as 
very familiar with dissolute scenes and thoughts. 

III. 

Samuel Richardson might have stood for Hogarth's 
" Industrious Apprentice." When a printer's boy, young 

'Preface to the "Serious Reflections of Robinson Crusoe." 
"" Love in Excess," " The British Recluse," " The Injured Husband," 
"Jenny and Jemmy Bessamy," " The Fortunate Foundhng." 



194 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Samuel stole from his hours of rest and relaxation the 
time to improve his mind. He was careful not to tire 
himself by sitting up too late at night over his books, 
and purchased his own candles, so that his master, who 
called him the " pillar of his house," might suffer no in- 
jury from his servant's improvement/ Thus Richardson 
persevered in the path of virtue, until, like the " Industri- 
ous Apprentice," himself, he married his master's daugh- 
ter, succeeded to his business, and lived happy and re- 
spected, surrounded by all the blessings which should fall 
to the lot of the truly good. 

" I was not fond of play, as other boys," says the 
author of " Pamela "; " my school-fellows used to call me 
Serious and Gravity ; and five of them particularly, de- 
lighted to single me out, either for a walk, or at their 
fathers' houses, or at mine, to tell them stories, as they 
phrased it. Some I told them from my reading, as true ; 
others from my head, as mere invention ; of which they 
would be most fond. * * * JlH iny stories carried 
with thein, I am bold to say, an useful moral .'"^ In such 
a manner, and with such an intention, Richardson began 
his career as a novelist. 

The life of the stout, vain little printer was already 
well advanced, his fortune was assured, and he Avas sur- 
rounded by a group of affectionate relatives and admiring 
female friends, when he was asked by a publisher to write 
" a little book of familiar letters on the useful concerns in 
common life." While thinking over this proposal, he recol- 
lected a story once told him of a young servant-girl, whose 
honor was long attempted by a dissolute masteTTarrd^vho, 
by her resolute chastity, finally conquered his vicious in- 

.'Mrs. Barbauld's "Life of Richardson," vol. I, p. 42. Scott's *' Life of 
Richardson." 

*Mrs. Barbauld's " Life of Richardson," vol. i, p. 37. 



RICHARDSON. I95 

tentions, and was rewarded by honorable marriage with 
her thwarted seducer. And then it occurred to Richard- 
son, that this story, "if written in an easy and natural 
manner, suitable to the simplicity of it, might possibly 
introduce a new species of writing, that might possibly 
turn young people into a course of reading different from 
the pomp and parade of romance writing, and, dismissing 
the improbable and marvellous, with which novels gen- 
erally abound, might tend to promote the cause of relig- 
ion and virtue." Such was the origin of a novel destined 
to make a new era in English fiction. It is evident that 
Richardson placed before himself two aims — to promote 
the cause of religion and virtue, and to introduce a new 
species of waiting, — and in both he succeeded. 
i The name, " Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded," sounds like 
a tract, and "Pamela" is, indeed, a very long tract. 
The contrast is curious between the moral object of 
the work and its contents. In the preface we are told 
that " Pamela " is to inculcate religion and morality in 
an easy and agreeable manner; it is to make vice odious, 
to make virtue truly lovely, and to give practical ex- 
amples, " worthy to be followed, in the most critical cases, 
by the modest virgin, the chaste bride, and the obliging 
wife." Moreover, all this is to be done, " without rais- 
ing a single idea throughout the whole that shall shock 
the exactest purity." Yet "Pamela" contains not a few 
scenes likely to inflame the imagination, and its sub- 
ject, kept continually before the reader's mind, is the 
licentious pursuit of a young girl. This story would not 
now do for a tract. But it answered the purpose very 
well in the eighteenth century. Richardson had no fear 
that his book would give the youthful reader any new 
knowledge of evil, or that the long account of Pamela's 



196 HISTORY or ENGLISH FICTION. 

attempted seduction would shock the " exactest purity " 
of his time. He simply described the dangers to which 
every attractive young woman was more or less subject 
by the prevailing looseness of morals, while, by the 
pathetic and resolute resistance of Pamela's chastity, he 
undoubtedly enlisted the sympathies of his reader on the 
side of virtue. The perusal of the book was recommended 
by Dr. Sherlock from the pulpit. One critic declared that 
it would do more good than twenty volumes of sermons; 
another, that if all other books were to be burnt, " Pa- 
mela" and the Bible should be preserved. A gentleman 
said that he would give it to his son as soon as he could 
read, that he might have an early impression of virtue.' 

The moral of " Pamela " was virtue rewarded. That 
of " Clarissa," Richardson's second novel, was virtue tri- 
umphant, even in disgrace and ruin. The heroine, to es- 
cape the tyranny of her parents who wished to force her 
into a marriage she abhors, throws herself on the pro- 
tection of a lover, the famous Lovelace, who, failing to 
seduce her by any other means, lures her into a brothel, 
and there violates her person while she is rendered in- 
sensible by opiates. Lovelace offers to make reparation 
for his crime by marriage, but in refusing this offer, and 
in dying of a broken heart, Clarissa carries out the moral 
of the story. 

Richardson was blamed for making the libertine hero, 
Lovelace, more attractive than was consistent with moral 
effect. And to remedy this mistake, he undertook in "Sir 
Charles Grandison," his last novel, to draw the portrait of 
2, Vi\z.vv oi true honor ; "acting uniformly well through a 
variety of tryings^cenes, because all his actions are regu- 
lated by one steady principle : a man of religion and 

^Edinburgh Review. Oct., 1804. Scott's " Life of Richardson," note. 



SIR CHARLES GRANDISON. I97 

virtue; of liveliness and spirit ; accomplished and agree- 
able ; happy in himself, and a blessing to others." Sir 
Charles then is not a man, but a model. " Pamela " and 
" Clarissa " remained virtuous through temptation and 
trial. But Grandison is a good man because he has no 
inducement to be otherwise. He can afford to be gener- 
ous, because he is rich ; he can afford to decline a duel, 
because his reputation for skill in swordsmanship is so 
well established that he runs no danger of being called a 
coward ; he is free from licentiousness, because his pas- 
sions are under perfect control. The name of Sir Charles 
Grandison has passed into a proverb, and its mention 
calls up to the mind a man of the most dignified de- 
portment, of the most delicate consideration for women, 
and of the most elaborate manners. But it must be re- 
membered that in Sir Charles, our author drew the por- 
trait of what a gentleman should be, and not of 
what a gentleman was. Even the most punctilious 
men of the time did not, like Grandison, hesitate to 
visit a sick person, because it would involve travelling on 
Sunday ; nor did they, as he, refuse to have their horses' 
tails docked, because nature had humanely given those 
tails as a protection against flies. The Grandisonian 
manners are not to be taken as a picture of contemporary 
fashion. Richardson was unacquainted with aristocratic 
habits, and his high-flown love scenes were purely ideal. 
When he goes into high life, said Chesterfield, " he mis- 
takes the modes." Not long before Sir Charles was 
making his formal and courtly addresses to Miss Byron, 
Walpole had written to George Montagu : " *Tis no 
little inducement to wish myself in France, that I hear 
gallantry is not left off there ; that you may be polite, 
and not be thought awkward for it. You know the pretty 



IQo HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

men of the age in England use the women with no more 
deference than they do their coach-horses." Such was 
the state of things which the example of Sir Charles 
Grandison was intended to remedy. 

The moral design is an important element in Richard- 
son's novels, but the extraordinary popularity of these 
works was owing to other causes. Richardson had known 
how to move his reader's heart, and how to give to his 
characters a deep personal interest. He had attempted 
to introdu:e "a new species of writing," and public en- 
thusiasm testified to his success. Colly Cibber read 
"Clarissa" before its publication, and was wrought up 
into a high state of excitement by the story. " What a 

piteous, d d, disgraceful pickle you have placed her 

in ! " he wrote to Richardson. " For God's sake, send me 
the sequel, or — I don't know what to say! '^ * * My 
girls are all on fire and fright to know what can possibly 
have become of her." And when he heard that Clarissa 
was to have a miserable end, he wrote the author: " God 

d -n him, if she sh®uld." ' Mrs. Pilkington was not 

less distressed: "Spare her virgin purity, dear sir, spare 
it ! Consider if this wounds both Mr. Cibber and me 
{who neither of 7is set up for immaculate chastity'), what 
must it do with those who possess that inestimable treas- 
ure?"' Miss Fielding, the sister of the novelist of that 
name, thus described, in a letter to its author, her feel- 
ings on reading " Clarissa " : " When I read of her, I am 
all sensation ; my heart glows. I am overwhelmed ; my 
only vent is tears." One Thomas Turner, who kept a 
village shop in Sussex, thus recorded in his diary the im- 
pression produced upon him by the death of Clarissa : 

* Richardson's correspondence, 1748. 

^Richardson's correspondence, Forsyth's ''Novels and Novelists," p. 251. 



ADMIRATION OF RICHARDSON. 1 99 

** Oh, may the Supreme Being give me grace to lead my 
life in such a manner as my exit may in some measure be 
like that divine creature's." ' Johnson was an enthusiastic 
admirer of Richardson. Dr. Young looked upon him as 
an " instrument of Providence." Ladies at Ranelagh 
held up " Pamela," to show that they had the famous 
book.^ Nor was this interest confined to the last century. 
" When I was in India," said Macaulay to Thackeray, " I 
passed one hot season at the hills, and there were the 
governor-general, and the secretary of government, and 
the commander-in-chief, and their wives. I had "Clarissa" 
with me, and as soon as they began to read, the whole 
station was in a passion of excitement about Miss Har- 
lowe and her misfortunes, and her scoundrelly Lovelace. 
The governor's wife seized the book, and the secretary 
waited for it, and the chief justice could not read it for 
tears ! " Macaulay " acted the whole scene," adds Thack- 
eray ; " he paced up and down the Athenaeum library ; I 
dare say he could have spoken pages of the book." ^ But 
admiration of Richardson was still greater among for- 
eigners. The novels were translated into French, Dutch, 
and German, and the enthusiasm they excited may 
be imagined from the warmth of Diderot's eulogy: " I 
yet remember with delight the first time ('Clarissa') 
came into my hands. I was in the country. How de- 
liciously was I affected! At every moment I saw my 
happiness abridged by a page. I then experienced the 
same sensations those feel who have long lived with one 
they love, and are on the point of separation. At the 
close of the work I seemed to remain deserted. '* * * 

'See the interesting " Glimpses of Our Ancestors," by Cliarles Fleet, p. 
33- 

^Mrs. Barbauld's " Life of Richardson." 

*W, M. Thackeray, " Nil Nisi Bonum," Cornhill Mag., No. I. 



200 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Oh, Richardson ! thou singular genius in my eyes ! thou 
shalt form my reading at all times. If, forced by sharp 
necessity, my friend falls into indigence ; if the medioc- 
rity of my fortune is not sufificient to bestow on my chil- 
dren the necessary cares for their education, I will sell 
my books, — but thou shalt remain ! Yes, thou shalt rest 
in the same class with Moses, Homer, Euripides, and 
Sophocles, to be read alternately." ' 

What was the secret by which the stout little printer 
excited such enthusiasm and won such eulogy? How 
did he appeal to natures so difTerent as the worldly Lord 
Chesterfield, the country shopkeeper, and the impas- 
sioned Diderot? Richardson Avas the first novelist to \ 
stir the heart and to move the passions, and his power 
was the more striking that it was new. His study of 
human nature had begun early in life. " I was not more 
than thirteen," he says, " when three young women, 
unknown to each other, having an high opinion of my 
taciturnity, revealed to me their love secrets, in order to 
induce me to give them copies to write after, or correct, 
for answers to their lovers' letters. * * * j have 
been directed to chide, and even repulse, when an ofTence 
was either taken or given, at the very time when the 
heart of the chider or repulser was open before me, over- 
flowing with esteem and affection ; and the fair repulser, 
dreading to be taken at her word, directed tJiis word, or 
tJiat expression, to be softened or changed. One, highly 
gratified with her lover's fervor and vows of everlasting 
love, has said, when I have asked her direction, / cannot 
tell you what to zvrite ; but (her heart on her X\^^%).you can- 
not zvrite too kindly^ ' With such an apprenticeship, 

' D'Israeli's " Curiosities of Literature," art. "Richardson." 
''Mrs. Barbauld's "Life of Richardson," vol. i, p. 4°- Scott's "Life 
of Richardson." 



RICHARDSON. 201 

Richardson had come to possess a very delicate percep- / 
tion of character, and especially of fenaale character. 
There was a certain effeminacy in his own nature which 
made him understand women better than men. His 
best creations are Pamela and Clarissa. Lovelace and 
Grandison are drawn from the outside ; they are less ^ 
real and natural. But Richardson leads his reader into 
the inmost recesses of his heroines' hearts. He is at 
home in describing the fears, the trials, and the final 
childlike rejoicings of Pamela. He attains to a high 
tragic effect in the death of Clarissa, a scene which Sir 
James Mackintosh ranked with Hume's description of 
the death of Mary Stuart. In this power to touch the 
heart and to move the passions of his reader lay the 
charm of Richardson's writing. But to paint perfection, / 
rather than to study nature, was his object in " Sir 
Charles Grandison," and therefore that novel was less 
powerful in the author's day, and is less interesting in 
ours than " Pamela " and " Clarissa." We no longer need 
the example of the pompous Sir Charles to dissuade us 
from indecent language and drunkenness in a lady's 
drawing-room, and we can only laugh at the studied pro- 
priety of his faultless intercourse with Miss Byron : 

He kissed my hand with fervor, dropped down on one 

knee ; again kissed it You have laid me, madam, under 

everlasting obligation ; and will you permit me before I 
rise — loveliest of women, will you permit me to beg an early 
day ? 

He clasped me in his arms with an ardor — that displeased 
me not — on reflection — But at the time startled me. He 
then thanked me again on one knee. I held out the hand he 
had not in his, with intent to raise him ; for I could not speak. 
He received it as a token of favor ; kissed it with ardor ; 



202 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

arose ; again pressed my cheeks with his lips. I was too much 
surprised to repulse him with anger ; but was he not too free ? 
Am I a prude, my dear ? 

Restrain, check me, madam, whenever I seem to trespass on 
your goodness. Yet how shall I forbear to wish you to hasten 
the day that shall make you wholly mine ? You will the rather 
allow me to wish it, as you will then be more than ever your 
own mistress ; though you have always been generously left to 
a discretion that never was more deservedly trusted to. Your 
will, madam, will ever comprehend mine. 

^ The verisimilitude of Richardson's novels, which is 
made so striking by his feminine attention to detail, may- 
seem destroyed to modern readers by the apparent im- 
probability of the narrative itself. It appears strange 
that young girls like Pamela or Clarissa should be so en- 
tirely in the power of their seducers, that incidents should 
be repeated with impunity which the existence of a police 
force would seem to make impossible. But the reader 
whose sense of probability is shocked by the unpunished 
and uninterrupted villanies of Mr. B. and of Lovelace, 
can find evidence of the security with which such crimes 
could be committed by the rich and influential in the 
Newgate calendar. The forcible detention in his own 
house, by Lord Baltimore, of a young girl, his atrocious 
treatment of her, and his escape from punishment, are 
incidents in real life not more remarkable than the fictions 
of the novelist. 

Sir Walter Scott lamented, early in-the present century, 
the neglect into which the works of Richardson had fallen. 
That neglect has not since been diminished, for obvious 
reasons. "■ Surely, sir," said Erskine to Johnson, " Rich- 
ardson is very tedious." " Why, sir," was the lexicogra- 
pher's reply, "if you were to read Richardson for the 



HENRY FIELDING. 203 

story, your impatience would be so much fretted that 
you would hang yourself ; but you must read him for the 
sentiment, and consider the story as only giving occasion 
to the sentiment." But the reader of to-day will agree 
with Erskine in thinking that Richardson is tedious. We 
have so many good novels which do not require the at- 
tention and labor exacted by him. We live so fast that 
we cannot spare the time for so much sentiment. These 
novels, like the elaborate embroideries of the last century, 
belong to a period when life was less full, and books less 
abundant. Samuel Richardson will take his place among 
the great authors who are much admired and little read, 
whose works every educated person should have heard 
of, but upon which very few would like to be examined. 
With Richardson's novels English fiction took a long 
step forward ; but it made a still greater advance in the 
hands of Henry Fielding, The latter was peculiarly well 
fitted by his talents and experience to carry the novel to 
a high position of importance and artistic merit. He 
united a considerable dramatic, and a great narrative 
power with an exuberant wit and an extensive knowledge 
of men. Allied to a noble family, but oppressed by 
poverty, Fielding mingled during his life with all classes 
of society. The Hon. George Lyttleton was his friend 
and protector. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was his 
cousin. On the other hand, his poverty and improvi- 
dence constantly kept him, as Lady Mary put it, " raking 
in the lowest sinks of vice and misery." Richardson, who 
always denounced Fielding's works as '' wretchedly low 
and dirty," said sneeringly : " his brawls, his jars, his jails, 
his spunging-houses are all drawn from what he has seen 
and known." But in this ungenerous sneer lay a sub- 
stantial compliment. Fielding did describe what he had 



V 



204 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

seen and known, and the variety of his experience gave 
him a breadth and power in describing human nature 
which the confined life of Richardson could not afford. 
The two novelists cannot be fairly compared, nor should 
they be considered as rivals. They pursued different 
methods, and aimed at opposite effects. Each has a high 
place in English literature, which the greatness of the 
other cannot depress. Richardson is best able to make 
his reader weep, and Fielding to make him laugh. 

Fielding was a tall, handsome fellow, so full of life and 
spirits that "his happy disposition," to quote Lady Mary, 
" made him forget every evil when he was before a veni- 
son-pastry, or over a flask of champagne." This rollicking, 
careless joyousness is the tone of his books. Whether 
taken to a prison, an inn, or a lady's boudoir, whether 
watching the breaking of heads, the blackening of eyes, 
or the making of love, the reader is always kept smiling. 

Fielding is often censured by moralists for the coarse- 
ness of his novels. But had he not been coarse he would 
not have been true. He described life as it was in the 
eighteenth century, as he had seen it in the ups and 
downs of a checkered career. His characters were taken 
from the higher ranks and the lower. He placed the 
house, the amusements, the habits of a country-gentle- 
man before the reader with the faithfulness of a man 
who had hunted, feasted, and got drunk with country- 
gentlemen. He described the miserable prisons of his 
time as he only could who had mingled with their de- 
graded inmates, and had exerted his power as a police 
magistrate to break up the gangs of ruffians who infested 
the streets. Thus Fielding's novels have a high histori- 
cal, as well as a literary value. Mr. Lecky has testified 
to their importance in a reconstruction of the past by 



"JOSEPH ANDREWS." 205 

placing " Amelia " among his authorities. Squire All- 
worthy, Squire Western, Tom Jones, Parson Adams, are 
characters to be studied by whoever would understand 
social life in the eighteenth century. The lovely Sophia, 
the modest Fanny, and above all Amelia, whom Thack- 
eray considered " the most charming character in Eng- 
lish fiction," are portraits in the gallery of history.' 

As Fielding set out to describe truth and nature as he 
saw them, the reader must put away his notions of re- 
finement and delicacy. He must be prepared to be en- 
tertained by blows, licentious assaults, a tub of hog's 
blood thrown by a clergyman, coarse practical jokes, foul 
talk, all put before him without disguise or circumlo- 
cution. As he follows Parson Adams, Joseph, and Fanny 
in their journey, he must always be ready for a fight. 
Here is a specimen : 

The captain * * * drew forth his hanger as Adams 
approached him, and was levelling a blow at his head which 
would probably have silenced the preacher forever, had not 
Joseph in that instant lifted up a certain huge stone pot of the 
chamber with one hand, which six beaux could not have lifted 
with both, and discharged it, together with the contents, full in 
the captain's face. The uplifted hanger dropped from his 
hand, and he fell prostrate on the floor with a lumpish noise, 
and his half-pence rattled in his pocket : the red liquor which 
his veins contained, and the white liquor which the pot con- 
tained, ran in one stream down his face and his clothes. Nor 
had Adams quite escaped, some of the water having in its pas- 
sage shed its honors on his head, and began to trickle down 
the wrinkles, or rather furrows, of his cheeks ; when one of the 

' The reader may find some curious examples of the fidelity with which 
Fielding portrayed contemporary character and manners in comparing pas- 
sages in "Tom Jones," with "Glimpses of our Ancestors," by Charles 
Fleet, pp. 38, 39, et passim. 



206 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

servants snatching a mop out of a pail of water, which had 
already done its duty in washing the house, pushed it in the 
parson's face ; yet could he not bear him down ; for the par- 
son wresting the mop from the fellow with one hand, with the 
other brought his enemy as low as the earth.' 

To obtain any adequate idea of the range of Fielding's 
pictures of human nature, the reader must consult the 
novels themselves. Propriety forbids the insertion here 
of quotations which could convey an impression of the 
happy dissoluteness of Tom Jones, the brutal coarsenesii 
of Squire Western, or the scenes of unblushing license 
which pervade the novels of Henry Fielding. But a 
sample of the witty, jovial tone which has made these 
novels so popular may be of interest to readers who are 
not inclined to open "Tom Jones" itself. The following 
scene was occasioned by the appearance of Molly Seagrim 
in church, in unaccustomed and ostentatious finery, and 
is described in the Homeric style, which Fielding some- 
times adopted with such humorous effect. 

As a vast herd of cows in a rich farmer's yard, if, while they 
are milked, they hear their calves at a distance, lamenting the 
robbery which is then committing, roar and bellow : so roared 
forth the Somersetshire mob an halloloo, made up of almost as 
many squalls, screams, and other different sounds, as there 
were persons, or indeed passions, among them. Some were 
inspired by rage, others alarmed by fear, and others had noth- 
ing in their heads but the love of fun ; but chiefly Envy, the 
sister of Satan and his constant companion, rushed among the 
crowd and blew up the fury of the women ; who no sooner 
came up to Molly than they pelted her with dirt and rubbish. 

Molly, having endeavored in vain to make a handsome re- 
treat, faced about ; and laying hold of ragged Bess, who ad- 

' "Joseph Andrews," book iii, ch. 9. 



''TOM JONES." 207 

vanced in the front of the enemy, she at one blow felled her to 
the ground. The whole army of the enemy (though near a 
hundred in number), seeing the fate of their general, gave back 
many paces, and retired beyond a new-dug grave ; for the 
church-yard was the field of battle, where there was to be a 
funeral that very evening. Molly pursued her victory, and 
catching up a skull which lay on the side of the grave, dis- 
charged it with such fury, that having hit a tailor on the head, 
the two skulls sent equally forth a hollow sound at their meet- 
ing, and the tailor took presently measure of his length on the 
ground, where the skulls lay side by side, and it was doubtful 
which was the more valuable of the two. Molly, then taking a 
thigh-bone in her hand, fell in among the flying ranks, and 
dealing her blows with great liberality on either side, overthrew 
the carcass of many a mighty hero and heroine. Recount, O 
muse, the names of those who fell on this fatal day. First 
Jemmy Tweedle felt on his hinder head the direful bone. 
Him the pleasant banks of sweetly winding Stour had nour- 
ished, where he first learnt the vocal art, with which, wandering 
up and down at wakes and fairs, he cheered the rural nymphs 
and swains, when upon the green they interweaved the sprightly 
dance ; while he himself stood fiddling and jumping to his own 
music. How little now avails his fiddle ! He thumps the 
verdant floor with his carcass. Next old Echepole, the sow- 
gelder, received a blow in his forehead from our Amazonian 
heroine, and immediately fell to the ground. He was a swing- 
ing fat fellow, and fell with almost as much noise as a house. 
His tobacco-box dropt at the same time from his pocket, which 
Molly took up as lawful spoils. Then Kate of the Mill tum- 
bled unfortunately over a tombstone, which catching hold of 
her ungartered stocking, inverted the order of nature, and gave 
her heels the superiority to her head. Betty Pippin, with 
young Roger her lover, fell both to the ground ; where, O Per- 
verse Fate ! she salutes the earth, and he the sky.' 
' " Tom Jones," book iv, ch, 8. 



208 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

Fielding had shown more than any predecessor the 
possibilities of fiction in the study of character and the 
illustration of manners, and to the art of the narrator, he 
had added that of the dramatist. The falHng of the rug 
in Molly Seagrim's bedroom ' is one of the happiest in- 
cidents ever devised, and no doubt suggested to Sheridan 
the falling of the screen in the " School for Scandal." 
But the chief distinction of Fielding lies in his having 
carried the novel to a high point as a work of art. It 
was the opinion of Coleridge that the " CEdipus Tyran- 
nus," " The Alchemist," and " Tom Jones," were the 
three most perfect plots ever planned.'^ It is to this ex- 
cellence of plot — the subordination of each minor cir- 
cumstance to the general aim, the skill with which all 
events are made to lead up to the final denouement — that 
Fielding, if any one, deserves the title of the founder of 
the English novel. But to give this title to any indi- 
vidual is a manifest injustice. The novel was developed, 
not created ; and in that development many minds took 
part. Short love stories had been made familiar in Eng- 
land by the Italian writers. Such, also, had been pro- 
duced by Mrs. Behn, Mrs. Manley, and Mrs. Heywood. 
Defoe had written novels of adventure, in one of which, 
at least, is found the combination of a character well 
drawn and a plot well executed. In the number of his 
characters and the complication of his plot, Richardson 
had surpassed Defoe. It is the merit of Fielding to have 
combined in a far greater degree than those who had 
gone before the characteristic qualities of the novel. In 
others we see the promise, in him the fulfilment. 

And this was in no respect the result of an accident. 

' Samuel Rogers, " Table Talk," p. 227. 

'Coleridge, " Table Talk," p. 339, vol. 2, London, 1835. 



THE NOVEL AN EPIC. 209 

Fielding looked upon his first work as a new attempt in 
English literature. " Joseph Andrews " was first intend- 
ed to be merely a satire on "Pamela." But study and 
reflection on the nature of his work determined Fielding 
to produce a " prose epic." "The epic as well as the 
drama," he said in the preface, " is divided into tragedy 
and comedy." Now, he continued, " when any kind of 
writing contains all the other parts (of the epic), such as 
fable, action, characters, sentiments, and diction, and is 
deficient in metre only ; it seems, I think, reasonable to 
refer it to the epic." Such, too, was the, opinion of 
the Chevalier Bunsen. "The romance of modern times," 
he says in his preface to "Soil und Haben " * * * 
" represents the latest stadium of the epic. Every ro- 
mance is intended, or ought to be, a new Iliad or 
Odyssey ; in other words, a poetic representation of a 
course of events consistent with the highest laws of 
moral government, whether it delineate the general his- 
tory of a people, or narrate the fortunes of a chosen 
hero. * * * The excellence of a romance, like that 
of an epic or a drama, lies in the apprehension and truth- 
ful exhibition of the course of human things." ' Lord 
Byron expressed his opinion that Fielding had realized 
this view of the nature of the novel by calling him the 
prose Homer of human nature. 

Fielding's novels are now considered unfit for general 
perusal. In considering the coarseness and immorality 
of a writer, the intention and the result must be separated. 
That Fielding's works are coarse, and that they contain 
scenes and characters of a dissolute nature, is neither to 
be denied nor to be regretted. If they were more pure, 
they would be less valuable from a historical point of 

^ Preface to " Debit and Credit" ('' Soil und Haben "), by Gustav Freitag. 



2IO HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

view ; less true to nature, and therefore less artistic. 
That the author's intention was far from the production 
of works with an evil tendency, is evident. He was care- 
ful to say in the preface to " Joseph Andrews " : " It may 
be objected to me that I have against my own rules in- 
troduced vices, and of a very black kind, in this work. 
To which I shall answer first, that it is very difficult to 
pursue a series of human actions, and keep clear from 
them. Secondly, that the vices to be found here are 
rather the accidental consequences of some human frailty 
or foible, than causes habitually existing in the mind. 
Thirdly, that they are never set forth as the objects of 
ridicule, but detestation. Fourthly, that they are never 
the principal figure at that time on the scene ; and lastly, 
they never produce the intended evil." And again, still 
more strongly. Fielding claims the merit of purity and 
moral effect for " Tom Jones." " I hope my reader will be 
convinced, at his very entrance on this work, that he will 
find, in the whole course of it, nothing prejudicial to the 
cause of religion and virtue ; nothing inconsistent with the 
strictest rules of decency, nor which can offend the chast- 
est eye in the perusal. On the contrary, I declare, that to 
recommend goodness and innocence hath been my sincere 
endeavor in this history. " * * Besides displaying 
that beauty of virtue which may attract the admiration of 
mankind, I have attempted to engage a stronger motive 
to human action in her favor, by convincing men that 
their true interest directs them to a pursuit of her. For 
this purpose I have shown, that no acquisitions of guilt can 
compensate the loss of that solid inward comfort of mind, 
which is the sure companion of innocence and virtue; nor 
can in the least balance the evil of that horror and anxiety 
which, in their room, guilt introduced into our bosoms." 



SMOLLETT, 211 

Thus, it is evident, that Fielding had no desire to write 
what might be harmful. The contrast between his 
promise and his fulfilment is simply an illustration of 
the standard of his time. His novels are coarse to a de- 
gree which may nullify their merits in the eyes of some 
readers of the present day, and may unfit them for the 
perusal of very young people. But this is simply because 
the standard in such matters has changed, and not be- 
cause the novels were purposely made dissolute. Their 
coarseness was adapted to the lack of refinement in 
thought and speech characteristic of the time. Fielding 
wished to " laugh mankind out of their follies and vices." 
In his coarseness there is always an open, frank laughter. 
There is none of that veiled pruriency which lurks under- 
neath the more conventionally expressed, but really 
vicious sentiments that are to be found in too many 
novels of our own day. 

The novel was well defined in character and well 
established in popularity when Smollett entered the 
field so well occupied by Richardson and Fielding. On 
this account his works have a less important plaice in the 
history of fiction than those of his predecessors. While 
he added greatly to the store of fictitious writing, he 
developed no new ideas concerning it. Fielding had 
announced at the outset of his career as a novelist that 
he had taken Cervantes as a prototype, and the influence 
of the great Spanish writer is plainly visible in " Joseph 
Andrews." But in the literary workmanship of his two 
later novels, Fielding's entire originality is undeniable. 
Smollett, however, is plainly an imitator of Le Sage. 
He did not aim at that artistic construction of plot, 
which is Fielding's chief merit. The novel, in his hands, 
became rather a series of adventures, linked together by 



212 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

their occurrence to the same individuals. " A novel," 
he said, '' is a large, diffused picture, comprehending the 
characters of life, disposed in different groups, and ex- 
hibited in various attitudes, for the purposes of a uni- 
form plan and general occurrence, to which every indi- 
vidual figure is subservient. But this plan cannot be 
executed with propriety, probability, or success, without 
a principal personage to attract the attention, unite the 
incidents, unwind the clue of the labyrinth, and at last 
close the scene by virtue of his importance."' But 
Smollett presents the "different groups" and "various 
attitudes" of his " diffused picture " with a luxuriance of 
imagination, a fidelity to nature, and an exuberance of 
broad humor which inspire interest even when they 
occasion disgust. If he added nothing new to the novel 
from a purely literary point of view, his works have an 
exceptional historical value. 

His life was well adapted to educate him as an 
observer and student of human nature. Of a good 
Scotch family, but obliged by poverty to rely on his own 
efforts for a living, he mixed familiarly with varied 
classes of men. As a surgeon in London, he came in 
contact with the middle and lower ranks of the city, 
from which many of his best characters are taken. As 
surgeon's mate on board a man-of-war, he obtained that 
acquaintance with a seafaring life which was afterward 
turned to such excellent account. 

Of Smollett's works, " Humphrey Clinker" is the most 
humorous, " Roderick Random " the simplest and most 
natural, " Perigrine Pickle " the most elaborate and brill- 
iant. The reader is conducted from adventure to ad- 
venture with an unfailing interest, sustained by the 
^ " Adventures of Count Fathom," letter of dedication. 



SMOLLETT. 213 

distinctness of the picture and the brightness of the 
coloring. The characters met with are natural and well 
studied. Trunnion, Hatchway, Pipes, Lieutenant Bow- 
ling, and Jack Rattlin are all distinctly seamen, and yet 
each has a marked individuality of his own. Matthew 
Bramble and Winifred Jenkins are among the best-drawn 
and most entertaining of fictitious personages. Smol- 
lett's humor is usually of the broadest and most element- 
ary kind. It consists largely of hard blows, a-propos 
knock-downs, and practical jokes. More than any nov- 
elist, he illustrates the coarseness of his time. His pages 
are filled with cruelties and blackguardism. Many of 
his principal characters are dissolute without enjoyment, 
and brutal without good-nature. Modern taste is 
shocked by the succession of repulsive scenes and 
degrading representations of vice which are often in- 
tended to amuse, and always to entertain. But it is 
because life in the eighteenth century had so many 
repulsive features, that the novels of the time often repel 
the modern reader. There is nothing strained or un- 
common in the experiences of Miss Williams while in 
prison : 

There I saw nothing but rage, anguish, and impiety ; and 
heard nothing but groans, curses, and blasphemy. In the midst 
of this hellish crew, I was subjected to the tyranny of a bar- 
barian, who imposed upon me tasks that I could not possibly 
perform, and then punished my incapacity with the utmost 
rigor and inhumanity. I was often whipped into a swoon, and 
lashed out of it, during which miserable intervals I was robbed 
by my fellow-prisoners of every thing about me, even to my 
cap, shoes, and stockings ; I was not only destitute of necessa- 
ries, but even of food, so that my wretchedness was extreme. 
Not one of my acquaintance, to whom I imparted my situa- 



214 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION: 

tion, would grant me the least succor or regard, on pretence 
of my being committed for theft ; and my landlord refused to 
part with some of my own clothes, which I sent for, because I 
was indebted to him for a week's lodging. Overwhelmed with 
calamity, I grew desperate, and resolved to put an end to my 
grievances and life together ; for this purpose I got up in the 
middle of the night, when I thought everybody around me 
asleep, and fixing one end of my handkerchief to a large hook 
in the ceiling, that supported the scales on which the hemp is 
weighed, I stood upon a chair, and making a noose on the 
other end, put my neck into it with an intention to hang my- 
self ; but before I could adjust the knot, I was surprised and 
prevented by two women who had been awake all the while, 
and suspected my design. In the morning my attempt was 
published among the prisoners, and punished with thirty 
stripes, the pain of which co-operating with my disappoint- 
ment and disgrace, bereft me of my senses, and threw me into 
an ecstacy of madness, during which I tore the flesh from my 
bones with my teeth, and dashed my head against the pave- 
ment." 

While Smollett mingled such scenes of misery with 
coarse adventures and coarse humor, he is yet always 
true to nature and always picturesque. He keeps the 
reader's attention even when he offends his taste. He 
impaired the literary merit of " Perigrine Pickle," but at 
the same time added to its dissolute character and its 
immediate popularity by the forced insertion of the 
licentious " Memoirs of a Lady of Quahty." Now a 
serious blemish, these memoirs formed at the time an 
added attraction to the book. They were eagerly read 
as the authentic account of Lady Vane, a notorious 
woman of rank, and were furnished to Smollett by herself, 

^ " Roderick Random," chap, xxiii. 



SMOLLETT. 21 5 

Kn the hope, fully gratified, that her infamous career 
might be known to future generations.' 

That the standard of public taste was rising, would 
appear from the fact that in the second edition of " Peri- 
grine Pickle," Smollett found it advisable to " reform the 
manners and correct the expression " of the first ; but 
when " he flatters himself that he has expunged every 
adventure, phrase, and insinuation that could be con- 
strued by the most delicate reader into a trespass upon 
the rules of decorum," he does not give a high idea of 
the standard of the " most delicate reader." But Smol- 
lett has left an account of his own views regarding the 
moral effect of the pictures of vice and degradation 
which his works contain, and that account is a striking 
statement of contemporary feeling upon the subject : 

The same principle by which we rejoice at the remuneration 
of merit, will teach us to relish the disgrace and discomfiture of 
vice, which is always an example of extensive use and influence, 
because it leaves a deep impression of terror upon the minds of 
those who were not confirmed in the pursuit of morality and 
virtue, and, while the balance wavers, enables the right scale to 
preponderate. * * * The impulses of fear, which is the 
most violent and interesting of all the passions, remain longer 
than any other upon the memory ; and for one that is allured 

'The wife of William, second Viscount Vane, "was the too celebrated 
Lady Vane ; first married to Lord William Hamilton, and secondly to Lord 
Vane ; who has given her own extraordinary and disreputable adventures to 
the world in Smollett's novel of ' Perigrine Pickle,' under tlie title of ' Me- 
moirs of a Lady of Quality.'" — Walpole to Mann, Nov. 23, 1741. "The 
troops continue going to Flanders, but slowly enough. Lady Vane has taken 
a trip thither after a cousin of Lord Berkeley, who is as simple about her as 
her own husband is, and has written to Mr. Knight at Paris to furnish her 
with what money she wants. He says she is vastly to blame ; for he was 
trying to get her a divorce from Lord Vane, and tlien would have narried 
her himself. Her adventures are worthy to be bound up with thr;se of my 
good sister-in-law, the German Princess, and Moll Flrjiders." — Walpole 10 
Mann, June 14, 1742. 



2 1 6 HIS TOR Y OF ENGLISH FIC TION. 

to virtue by the contemplation of that peace and happiness 
which it bestows, an hundred are deterred from the practice of 
vice, by the infamy and punishment to which it is Hable from 
the laws a,nd regulations of mankind. Let me not, therefore, be 
condemned for having chosen my principal character from the 
purlieus of treachery and fraud, when I declare that my purpose 
is to set him up as a beacon for the benefit of the inexperienced 
and the unwary, who, from the perusal of these memoirs, may 
learn to avoid the manifold snares with which they are con- 
tinually surrounded in the paths of life ; while those who 
hesitate on the brink of iniquity may be terrified from plung- 
ing into that irremediable gulph, by surveying the deplorable 
fate of Ferdinand Count Fathom.' 

This passage illustrates with remarkable fidelity the at- 
titude, not only of Smollett, but of the other novelists 
and the general public of the first half of the eighteenth 
century, toward vice and crime. The consciousness of 
evil and the desire for reformation were prominent feat- 
ures of the time. But to deter men from wrong-doing, 
fear was the only recognized agent. There was abso- 
lutely no feeling of philanthropy. There was no effort 
to prevent crime through the education or regulation of 
the lower classes ; there was no attempt to reform the 
criminal when convicted. The public fear of the criminal 
classes was expressed in the cruel and ineffective code 
which punished almost every offense with death. The 
corruptions which pervaded the administration of justice 
made it almost impossible to punish the wealthy and in- 
fluential. When Smollett declared that the miserable 
fate of Count Fathom would deter his reader from simi- 
lar courses by a fear of similar punishment, when Defoe 
urged the moral usefulness of " Moll Flanders " and 

' " Adventures of Count Fathom," letter of dedication. 



LOPV STANDARD OF TASTE. 21/ 

" Roxana," the two novelists simply expressed the gen- 
eral feeling that the sight of a malefactor hanging on 
the gallows was the most effective recommendation to 
virtue. In the same spirit in which justice exposed the 
offender in the stocks to public view, the novelist de- 
scribed his careers of vice ending in misery, and Hogarth 
conducted his Idle Apprentice from stage to stage till 
Tyburn Hill is reached. The same moral end is always 
in view, but the lesson is illustrated by the ugliness of 
vice, and not by the beauty of virtue. In our time we 
have reason to be thankful for a criminal legislation 
tempered by mercy and philanthropy. We have attained, 
too, a standard of taste and of humanity which has 
banished the degrading exhibitions of public punish- 
ments, which has largely done away with coarseness and 
brutality, and has added much to the happiness of life. 
In fiction, the writer who wishes to serve a moral purpose 
attains his end by the more agreeable method of holding 
up examples of merit to be imitated, rather than of vice 
to be shunned. 

But when the great novelists of the eighteenth century 
were writing, the standard of taste was extremely low. 
The author knew that he was keeping his reader in bad 
company, and was supplying his mind with coarse ideas, 
but he believed that he might do this without offense. 
Defoe thought that " Moll Flanders " would not " offend 
the chastest reader or the modestest hearer " ; Richard- 
son, that the prolonged effort to seduce Pamela could be 
described " without raising a single idea throughout the 
whole that shall shock the exactest purity"; Fielding, 
that there was nothing in " Tom Jones " which " could 
offend the chastest eye in the perusal." Nor, as con- 
cerned their own time, were they mistaken. They clearly 



2l8 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

understood the distinction between coarseness and im- 
morality. The young women who read " Tom Jones " 
with enthusiasm were not less moral than the young 
women who now avoid it, they were only less refined. 
They did not think vice less reprehensible, but were more 
accustomed to the sight of it, and therefore less easily 
offended by its description. 

While the novels of which we have been speaking were 
making their first appearance, there lived in Kent a 
charming young lady who went by the name of "the cele- 
brated Miss Talbot." She had attained this distinction 
by her great cultivation. She had studied astronomy 
and geography, was " mistress of French and Italian," 
and knew a little Latin. When she was only twenty 
years of age, the Dean of Canterbury spoke of her with 
high admiration. Her acquaintance was eagerly sought 
by accomplished young ladies, and by none more suc- 
cessfully than " the learned " Miss Carter. Both ot these 
girls read the novels of the day, and fortunately recorded 
some of their opinions in the letters which passed be- 
tween them.' " I want much to know," wrote Miss Tal- 
bot, " whether you have yet condescended to read 
' Joseph Andrews.' " " I must thank you," replied Miss 
Carter, " for the perfectly agreeable entertainment I have 
met in reading * Joseph Andrews.' It contains such a 
surprising variety of nature, wit, morality, and good 
sense, as is scarcely to be met with in any one compo- 
sition, and there is such a spirit ot benevolence runs 
through the whole, as, I think, renders it peculiarly 
charming." Some years later the Bishop of Gloucester 
came to visit Miss Talbot's family, and read " Amelia," 

* '* The Carter and Talbot Correspondence." Ed. by Rev. Montagu 
Pennington, 1S09. The passages quoted are taken from an article in the 
Saturday Ktview ior Oct. iS, 1879. 



CONTEMPORARY CRITICISM. 219 

the young lady wrote, while he was nursing his cold by 
the fireside. Miss Carter replied that " in favor of the 
Bishop's cold, his reading ' Amelia ' in silence may be 
tolerated, but I am somewhat scandalized that, since he 
did not read it to you, you did not read it yourself." 
"The more I read 'Tom Jones,'" wrote Miss Talbot, 
" the more I detest him, and admire Clarissa Harlowe, — 
yet there are in it things that must touch and please 
every good heart, and probe to the quick many a bad 
one, and humor that it is impossible not to laugh at." " I 
am sorry," replied Miss Carter, " to find you so outra- 
geous about poor Tom Jones ; he is no doubt an imperfect, 
but not a detestable character, with all that honesty, 
good-nature, and generosity." Miss Talbot, in a later 
letter, said that she had once heard a lady piously say to 
her son that she wished with all her heart he was like 
Tom Jones.' In 1747 " Clarissa " was read aloud at the 
palace of the Bishop of Oxford, Miss Talbot's uncle. 
"As for us," she wrote, " we lived quite happy the whole 
time we were reading it, and we made that time as long 
as we could, too, for we only read it en fauiillc, at set 
hours, and all the rest of the day we talked of it. One 
can scarcely persuade one's self that they are not real 
characters and living people." Even " Roderick Ran- 
dom " made part of the young ladies' reading. " It is a 
very strange and a very low book," commented the 
Bishop's celebrated niece, " though not without some 
characters in it, and, I believe, some very just, though 
very wretched descriptions." 

' See "The Carter and Talbot Correspondence," Saturday Review, Oct. 
18, 1879. 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY CONTINUED. !. — THE RE- 
LIGIOUS REVIVAL. II. — STERNE, JOHNSON, GOLD- 
SMITH, AND OTHERS. III. — MISS BURNEY, AND THE 
FEMALE NOVELISTS. IV. — THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL. 



WE have observed in the earlier works of fiction of 
the eighteenth century, together with great 
>:oarseness of thought and manners, the reflection of a 
strong moral and reforming tendency. As early as the 
reign of William III, Parliament had requested the king 
to issue proclamations to justices of the peace, instruct- 
ing them to put in execution the neglected laws against 
open licentiousness.' In 1698, Collier published his 
" Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the 
English Stage," a powerful and effective protest against 
the depravity of the drama. At about the same time 
had been formed the Societies for the Reformation of 
Manners, which energetically attacked the more flagrant 
forms of crime. " England, bad as she is," wrote Defoe 
in 1706, "is yet a reforming nation; and the work has 
made more progress from the court even to the street, 
than, I believe, any nation in the world can parallel in 
such a time and in such circumstances." Toward the 
middle of the century, these tendencies took effect in the 

' Wilson's " Memoirs of Daniel Defoe." 

220 



THE RELIGIOUS REVIVAL. 221 

Methodist Revival, a movement destined to exert a pro- 
found influence on society. Accompanying this revival, 
or resulting from it, were many important reforms.. The 
corruption of political life gradually diminished. A new 
patriotism and unselfishness began to appear in public 
men. A spirit of philanthropy arose which corrected 
some of the worst social abuses. Under the leadership 
of the noble John Howard, the prisons, so long the 
abandoned haunts of squalor, oppression, and misery, 
were considerably redeemed from their shameful condi- 
tion. Beau Nash marked the progress of peaceful and 
law-abiding habits by formally forbidding the wearing of 
swords wherever his fashionable authority was recog- 
nized. In the fiction of the latter half of the eighteenth 
century is illustrated a gradual transition of morals and 
taste from the unbridled coarseness of the century's ear- 
lier years to the comparative refinement of our own 
times. 

There lived in Sussex about the time of the Methodist 
revival, a thriving shopkeeper named Thomas Turner. 
He had received a good education, and in early life had 
been a schoolmaster. On reading " Clarissa '.' he had ex- 
claimed, what would have gladdened the heart of Rich- 
ardson : " Oh, may the Supreme Being give me grace to 
lead my Ijfe in such a manner as my exit may in some 
m.easure be like that divine creature's ! " His literary 
tastes were so pronounced and varied that in the space 
of six weeks he had read Gray's " Poems," Stewart " On 
the Supreme Being," the " Whole Duty of Man," " Para- 
dise Lost and Regained," "Othello," the "Universal 
Magazine," Thomson's " Seasons," Young's " Night 
Thoughts/' Tournefort's " Voyage to the Levant," and 
" Perigrine Pickle." This scholarly tradesman kept a 



222 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

diary, in which he recorded his thoughts, his studies, and 
his amusements with a frankness which deserves the 
thanks of posterity. Some passages of his diary, in their 
illustration of the combination of licence, coarseness, and 
moral earnestness characteristic of the writer's time may 
greatly assist us in appreciating the power and influence 
of the religious revival.' 

" I went to the audit and came home drunk. But I 
think never to exceed the bounds of moderation more. * * 
" Sunday, 28th, went down to Jones', where we drank 
one bowl of punch and two muggs of bumboo ; and I 
came home again in liquor. Oh, with what horrors does 
it fill my heart, to think I should be guilty of doing so, 
and on a Sunday, too ! Let me once more endeavour, 
never, no never, to be guilty of the same again. * * * 
I read part of the fourth volume of the Tatler ; the 
oftener I read it, the better I like it. I think I never 
found the vice of drinking so well exploded in my life, as 
in one of the numbers." In January, 175 i, " Mr. Elless 
(the schoolmaster), Marchant, myself, and wife sat down 
to whist about seven o'clock, and played all night ; very 
pleasant, and I think I may say innocent mirth, there 
being no oaths nor imprecations sounding from side to 
side, as is too often the case at cards." February 2, " we 
supped at Mr. Fuller's, and spent the evening with a 
great deal of mirth, till between one and two. Tho. 
Fuller brought my wife home on his back, I cannot say 
I came home sober, though I was far from being bad 
company. I think we spent the evening with a great deal 
of pleasure." March 7th, a party met at Mr. Joseph 
Fuller's, " drinking," records our diarist, " like horses, as 

' For the diary of Thomas Turner, see " Glimpses of our Ancestors," by 
Charles Fleet, pp. 31-52. 



THE RELIGIOUS REVIVAL. 223 

the vulgar phrase is, and singing, till many of us were 
very drunk, and then we went to dancing, and pulling of 
wigs, caps, and hats ; and thus we continued in this fran- 
tic manner, behaving more like mad people than they 
that profess the name of Christians." Three days after, 
the same amusements are enjoyed at the house of Mr. 
Porter, the clergyman of the parish, except " there was 
no swearing and ill words, by reason of which Mr. Porter 
calls it innocent mirth, but I in opinion differ much there- 
from." Mr. Turner had no great reason to respect the opin- 
ion of clergymen on such matters. Soon after, " Mr. , 

the curate of Laughton, came to the shop in the forenoon, 
and he having bought some things of me (and I could 
wish he had paid for them), dined with me, and also staid 
in the afternoon till he got in liquor, and being so com- 
plaisant as to keep him company, I was quite drunk. 
How do I detest myself for being so foolish ! " A 
little later, Mr. Turner attended a vestry meeting, at 
which " we had several warm arguments, and several 
vollies of execrable oaths oftentime redounded from al- 
most all parts of the room. 

" About 4 P.M. I walked down to Whyly. We played 
at bragg the first part of the even. After ten we went 
to supper, on four broiled chicken, four boiled ducks, 
minced veal, cold roast goose, chicken pastry, and ham. 
Our company, Mr. and Mrs. Porter, Mr. and Mrs. Coates, 
Mrs. Atkins, Mrs. Hicks, Mr. Piper and wife, Joseph Ful- 
ler and wife, Tho. Fuller and wife. Dame Durrant, myself 
and wife, and Mr. French's family. After supper our be- 
haviour was far from that of serious, harmless mirth ; it 
was downright obstreperious, mixed with a great deal of 
folly and stupidity. Our diversion was dancing or jump- 
ing about, without a violin or any musick, singing of fool- 



224 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

ish healths, and drinking all the time as fast as it could 
be well poured down ; and the parson of the parish was 
one among the mixed multitude. If conscience dictates 
right from wrong, as doubtless it sometimes does, mine 
is one that I may say is soon offended : for, I must say, 
I am always very uneasy at such behavior, thinking it 
not like the behaviour of the primitive Christians, which. 
I imagine, was most in conformity to our Saviour's gos- 
pel. 

" Thursday, Feb. 25th. This morning, about six 
o'clock, just as my wife was got to bed, we was awaked 
by Mrs. Porter, who pretended she wanted some cream 
of tartar ; but as soon as my wife got out of bed, she 
vowed she should come down. She found Mr. Porter 
(the clergyman), Mr. Fuller, and his wife, with a lighted 
candle, and part of a bottle of port wine and a glass. The 
next thing was to have me down stairs, which being ap- 
prised of, I fastened my door. Up stairs they came, and 
threatened to break it open ; so I ordered the boys to 
open it, when they poured into my room ; and as modesty 
forbid me to get out of bed, so I refrained ; but their im- 
modesty permitted them to draw me out of bed, as the 
phrase is, topsy-turvey ; but, however, at the intercession 
of Mr. Porter, they permitted me to put on * * * my 
wife's petticoats ; and in this manner they made me 
dance, without shoes and stockings, until they had emp- 
tied a bottle of wine, and also a bottle of my beer. * * * 
About three o'clock in the afternoon, they found their 
way to their respective homes, beginning to be a little 
serious, and, in my opinion, ashamed of their stupid en- 
terprise and drunken perambulation. Now let any one 
call in reason to his assistance, and reflect seriously on 
what I have before recited, and they will join me in 



THE RELIGIOUS REVIVAL. 225 

thinking that the precepts delivered from the pulpit on 
Sunday, though delivered with the greatest ardour, must 
lose a great deal of their efficacy by such examples." 

Such were the amusements and such the moral reflec- 
tions of a country tradesman in the middle of the last 
century. Fielding, Smollett, and the other novelists de- 
scribed the same kind of life: the same succession oftj 
brawls, drunken sprees, cock-fights, boxing matches, and ' 
bull-baitings. It would be difficult to imagine a state of 
society more ripe for a revival. Mr. Thomas Turner had 
moral and religious aspirations, but these could not be 
satisfied by the clergyman of his parish or the curate of 
Laughton, the companions of his debauches but not the 
sharers of his remorse. When the clergy were sincere 
and moral, they were still too cold and commonplace to 
seriously influence their flocks. The sermons of the 
time were at best moral essays, teaching little, as Mr. 
Lecky says, " that might not have been taught by dis- 
ciples of Socrates and Confucius." They m.ight encour- 
age honesty and temperance where those virtues already 
existed, but they had no spell to arouse religious feel- 
ings, nor to reclaim the vicious. How great, then, must 
have been the effect of the impassioned eloquence of a 
Whitefield, which could draw tears from thousands of 
hardened colliers, upon such a society as that of Mr. 
Turner and his friends, accustomed only to the discourses 
of their boon companion, the Rev. Mr. Porter. The pre- 
vailing licence and the prevailing moral consciousness 
were elements especially adapted to the work of the 
religious revivalist. The effect of the sermons of Ber- 
ridge is thus described by an eye-witness' : 

'For these manifestations, see Wesley's "Journal," and Lecky's " His- 
tory of England in the Eighteenth Century," vol. ii, chap. ix. 



226 HISTOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

I heard many cry out, especially children, whose agonies 
were amazing. One of the eldest, a girl of ten or twelve years 
old, was full in my view, in violent contortions of body, and 
weeping aloud, I think incessantly, during the whole service. 

* * * While poor sinners felt the sentence of death in their 
souls, what sounds of distress did I hear ! Some shrieking, 
some roaring aloud. The most general was a loud breathing, 
like that of people half strangled and gasping for life. And 
indeed, almost all the cries were like those of human creatures 
dying in bitter anguish. Great numbers wept without any noise; 
others fell down as dead ; some sinking in silence ; some with 
extreme noise and violent agitation. I stood on the pew seat, 
as did a young man in an opposite pew — an able-bodied, fresh, 
healthy countryman. But in a moment, when he seemed to 
think of nothing less, down he dropped with a violence incon- 
ceivable. The adjoining pews seemed shook with his fall. I 
heard afterward the stamping of his feet, ready to break the 
boards as he lay in strong convulsions at the bottom of the pew. 

* * * Among the children who felt the arrows of the Al- 
mighty I saw a sturdy boy about eight years old, who roared 
above his fellows, and seemed, in his agony, to struggle with 
the strength of a grown man. His face was red as scar- 
let ; and almost all on whom God laid his hand turned either 
red or almost black. * * * ^ stranger, well dressed, 
who stood facing me, fell backward to the wall ; then for- 
ward on his knees, wringing his hands and roaring like a 
bull. His face at first turned quite red, then almost black. 
He rose and ran against the wall till Mr. Keeling and another 
held him. He screamed out: " Oh ! what shall I do ? what 
shall I do ? Oh, for one drop of the blood of Christ ! " 

These were violent remedies, but they were applied to a 
powerful disease. If the revivalists did harm by the 
religious terrorism which they excited, they yet had a 
powerful and wide-spread influence for good. They 



THE RELIGIOUS REVIVAL. 22/ 

awa^cened religious feelings among the people, and dif- 
fused a new earnestness among the clergy. A spirit of 
philanthropy was born with their teachings which has 
gone on growing until it now extends a protecting arm 
even to brutes. The societies for the prevention of 
cruelty to children and to animals are part of a great, 
philanthropic movement which began at the end of \.\\2 
eighteenth century, which has carried into practical, 
every-day life the spirit of Christianity, and has given to 
the words mercy and charity, the signification of real and 
existing virtues. Horses, dogs, even rats, are now more 
safe from wanton brutality than great numbers of men 
and women in the eighteenth century. To any one who 
studies that period, the stocks, the whipping-post, the 
gibbet, cock-fights, prize-fights, bull-baitings, accounts of 
rapes, are simply the outward signs of an all-pervading 
cruelty. If he opens a novel, he finds that the story turns 
on brutality in one form or other. It is not only in such 
novels as those of Fielding and Smollett, which are in- 
tended to describe the lower classes of society, and in 
which blackened eyes and broken heads are relished 
forms of wit, that the modern reader is offended by the 
continual infliction of pain. Goldsmith gives Squire 
Thornhill perfect impunity from the law and from public 
opinion in his crimes. Mackenzie does not think of visit- 
ing any legal retribution on his "Man of the World." God- 
win wrote "Caleb Williams " to show with what impunity 
man preyed on man, how powerless the tenant and the 
dependent woman lay before the violence or the intrigue 
of the rich. And it is not only that a crime should be 
committed with perfect security which would now receive 
a severe sentence at the hands of an ordinary judge and 
jury which surprises the reader of to-day, but that scenes 



228 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

which would now shock any person of common humanity 
or taste, were, in the last century, especially intended to 
amuse. In Miss Burney's " Evelina," Captain Mirvan 
continually insults and maltreats Mme, Duval, the grand- 
mother of the heroine, in a manner which would not only 
be inconceivable in a gentleman tolerated in society, but 
in a blackguard, not entirely bereft of feelings of decency 
or good-nature. While she is a guest in his own house, he 
torments her with false accounts of the sufferings of a 
friend ^ sends her on a futile errand to relieve those suffer- 
ings in a carriage of his own ; and then, disguised as a 
highwayman, he assaults her with the collusion of his 
servants, tears her clothes, and leaves her half-dead with 
terror, tied with ropes, at the bottom of a ditch. When 
Mme. Duval relates her ill-treatment to her granddaugh- 
ter, Evelina could only find occasion to say : " Though 
this narrative almost compelled me to laugh, yet I was 
really irritated with the captain, for carrying his love of 
tormenting — sport, he calls it — to such barbarous and 
unjustifiable extremes." And Miss Burney expected, no 
doubt with reason, that her reader would be amused by 
all this. 

In the same work a nobleman and a fashionable com- 
moner are described as settling a bet by a race between 
two decrepit women over eighty years of age. " When 
the signal was given for them to set off, the poor 
creatures, feeble and frightened, ran against each other : 
and neither of them being able to support the shock, 
they both fell on the ground. '^' * * Again they set 
off, and hobbled along, nearly even with each other, for 
some time ; yet frequently, to the inexpressible diversion 
of the company, they stumbled and tottered. * * * 
Not long after, a foot of one of the poor women slipped, 



THE RELIGIOUS REVIVAL. 229 

and with great force she came again to the ground. * * 
Mr. Coverley went himself to help her, and insisted that 
the other should stop. A debate ensued, but the poor 
creature was too much hurt to move, and declared her 
utter inability to make another attempt. Mr. Coverley 
was quite brutal ; he swore at her with unmanly rage, 
and seemed scarce able to refrain even from striking her." 
It would be impossible perhaps to find a party of the 
upper ranks gathered at a country house at the present 
time, composed of persons who could have endured, 
without remonstrance, such treatment of a pair of super- 
annuated horses ; yet Miss Burney describes the efforts 
and sufferings of these old women as affording inexpres- 
sible diversion to the ladies and gentlemen who figure 
in her novel, and she evidently expects the reader to be 
equally entertained. " Evelina " was written by a young 
woman who saw the best society, who was maid of honor 
to Queen Charlotte, who was universally admired for her 
delicacy and her talents, and whose novels are among the 
most refined of the time. 

The higher ranks were much less influenced by the re- 
ligious revival than the lower. Although certainly not 
less in need of reformation, they were far less inclined to 
welcome it. The fashionable indifference to religion was 
an obstacle which Wesley found much more difificult 
to overcome than the brutal ignorance of the inmates of 
Newgate. After listening to a sermon by Whitefield, 
Bolingbroke complimented the preacher by saying that 
he had " done great justice to the divine attributes." The 
Duchess of Buckingham's remarks on the preaching of 
the Methodists, in a letter to Lady Huntingdon, are an 
amusing commentary on the times. '' 1 thank your lady- 
ship for the information concerning the Methodist preach- 



230 HISTORY OF ENGL'^SH FICTION., 

ers. Their doctrines are most repulsive, and strongly 
tinctured with impertinence and disrespect toward their 
superiors, in perpetually endeavoring to level all ranks 
and do away with all distinctions. It is monstrous to be 
told that you have a heart as sinful as the common 
wretches that crawl the earth. This is highly offensive 
and insulting, and I cannot but wonder that your lady- 
ship should relish any sentiments so much at variance 
with high rank and good-breeding." ' High rank and 
good-breeding, however, in the society of which the 
Duchess of Buckingham was so proud, were not con- 
sidered inconsistent with habitual drunkenness, inde- 
cency, and profanity. The vices which " the common 
wretches that crawl the earth " practised in addition to 
these, her Grace would have had difificulty in mention- 
ing. 

Still, in the latter half of the eighteenth century is to 
be traced a continual improvement, which is reflected in 
contemporary fiction. As a remarkable example of the 
change which took place may be mentioned the instance 
of the Earl of March. " As Duke of Queensberry, at 
nearer ninety than eighty years of age, he was still rolling 
in wealth, still wallowing in sin, and regarded by his 
countrymen as one whom it was hardly decent to name, 
because he did not choose, out of respect for the public 
opinion of 1808, to discontinue a mode of existence 
which in 1768 was almost a thing of course" among the 
higher ranks.'^ 

II. 

In 1759, were published the first two volumes of 



' Lecky, " Hist, of England in the i8th Ceatury," vol. ii, chap. 9. 
'^ See Trevelyan's " Early History of Charles James Fox," Harper's ed., 
p. 75- 



^^ TRISTRAM SHANDY." 23 1 

"Tristram Shandy," a singular and brilliant medley of 
wit, sentiment, indecency, and study of character. Lau- 
rence Sterne was a profligate clergyman, a dishonest au- 
thor, and an unfaithful husband. He wrote " Tristram 
Shandy," and he wrote a great many sermons. He de- 
scended to the indulgence of low tastes, and rose to an 
elevated strain of thought, with equal facility. He was 
a man who knew the better and followed the worse. His 
talents made him a welcome guest at great men's 
tables, where he paid for his dinner by amusing the 
company with a brilliant succession of witticisms and in- 
decent anecdotes, which, to his hearers, derived an ad- 
ditional piquancy from the fact that they proceeded from 
the mouth of a divine. But although the man was in many 
respects contemptible, although he disgraced his priestly 
character by his profligacy, and his literary character by 
a shameless plagiarism,' he possessed in a high degree a 
quality which must give him a distinguished place in 
English fiction. His borrowed plumage and his imita- 
tion of Rabelais* style apart, Sterne had originality, a 
gift at all times rare, and always, perhaps, becoming 
rarer. As a humorist, he is to be classed with Fielding 
and Smollett, but as a novelist, his position in the his- 
tory of fiction is separate and unique. 

" Tristram Shandy " has all the elements of a novel ex- 

' It would be difficult to find a more bare-faced and impudent literary 
theft than the case in which Sterne appropriated to himself the remon- 
strance of Burton (" Anatomy of Melanciioly "), against that very plagiarism 
which he (Sterne) was then committing. Burton said: "As apotiiecaries, 
we make new mixtures, every day pour out of one vessel into another. * 
* * We weave the same web, still twist the same rope again and again." 
Sterne says, with an effrontery all his own: "Shall we forever make new 
books, as apothecaries make new medicines, by pouring only out of one 
vessel into another? Are we for ever to be twisting and untwisting the 
same rope — forever n the same track ? forever at the same pace?" Foi 
Sterne's jlagiarisms, see Dr. Ferriar's "Essay and Illustrations," also 
Scott's " Life of Sterne." 



232 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

cept the plot. The author has no story to tell. His 
aim is to amuse the reader by odd and whimsical remarks 
on every subject and on every personage whose peculiari- 
ties promise material for humor and satire. Sterne is 
perpetually digressing, moralizing, commenting on every 
trivial topic which enters into his story, until the story 
itself is completely lost, if, indeed, it can be said ever to 
have been begun. The absence of arrangement is so 
marked that it is very difficult to turn to a passage which 
in a previous perusal has struck the eye. The eccen- 
tricity and whimsicality of the book contributed greatly 
to its immediate popularity. But the same characteris- 
tics which seem brilliant when novel, soon become dull 
when familiar, and although "Tristram Shandy " will al- 
ways afford single passages of lasting interest to the lover 
of literature, the work as a whole is not a little tedious 
when read continuously from cover to cover. 

In the course of his literary medley, Sterne introduces 
his reader to a group of characters among the most odd 
and original in fiction. Mr. Shandy, with his syllogisms 
and his hypotheses, his " close reasoning upon the small- 
est matters " ; Yorick, the witty parson, whose epitaph, 
Alas ! Poor Yorick ! expresses so tenderly the amiable 
faults for which he suffered ; Captain Shandy, that com- 
bination of simplicity, gentleness, humanity, and mod- 
esty, are all creations which deserve to rank with the 
most individualandhappily conceived of fictitious person- 
ages. Sterne makes a character known to the reader by 
a succession of delicate touches rather than by descrip- 
tion. He seems to enter into an individual, and make 
him betray his peculiarities by significant actions and 
phrases. Thus Mr. Shandy exposes at once the nature 
of his mind and the vigor of his " hobby-horse," when he 



" TRISTRAM SHANDY." 233 

exclaims to his brother Toby : " What is the character 
of a family to an hypothesis ? " 

The combination of sentiment, pathos, and humor 
which Sterne sometimes reached with remarkable suc- 
cess, is particularly apparent in every incident which 
concerns the celebrated Captain Toby Shandy, for the 
creation of which character this author may most easily 
be forgiven his indecencies and his literary thefts. Uncle 
Toby's sympathy with Lefevre, a poor army officer, on 
his way to join his regiment, who died in an inn near 
Shandy's house, is exquisitely painted throughout, and 
the colloquy between the captain and his faithful ser- 
vant, Corporal Trim, when the death of the officer is im- 
minent, is probably the finest passage which ever fell 
from the skilful pen of Laurence Sterne: 

A sick brother-officer should have the best quarters, Trim ; 
and if we had him with us, — we could tend and look to him. — 
Thou art an excellent nurse thyself, Trim ; — and what with 
thy care of him, and the old woman's, and his boy's, and mine 
together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon 
his legs. 

In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby, 

smiling, he might march. — He will never march, an' please 
your Honour, in this world, said the Corporal. — He will march, 
said my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed with 
one shoe off. — An' please your Honour, said the Corporal, he 
will never march but to his grave. — He shall march, cried my 
uncle Toby, marching the foot which had a shoe on, though 
without advancing an inch, — he shall march to his regiment. — 
He cannot stand it, said the Corporal. — He shall be supported, 
said my uncle Toby. — He'll drop at last, said the Corporal, 
and what will become of his boy ? — He shall not drop, said 
my uncle Toby, firmly, — Ah, well-a-day ! — do what we can foi 



234 HISTORY OF ENGLISH fiction: 

him, said Trim, maintaining his point, — the poor soul will die. 
— He shall 7iot die, by G — , cried my uncle Toby. 

The accusing spirit, which flew up to Heaven's chan- 
cery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in ; — and the record- 
ing angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word, 
and blotted it out for ever.' 

"Ye, who listen with credulity to the whispers of 
fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope ; 
who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, 
and that the deficiencies of the present day will be sup- 
plied .by the morrow; attend to the history of Rasselas, 
Prince of Abyssinia." Thus begins the famous tale which 
Dr. Johnson made the repository of so much of his wis- 
dom, and so beautiful an example of English style. Ras- 
selas and his royal brothers and sisters live in a secluded 
portion of the earth known as the Happy Valley, where, 
completely isolated from the world, they await their 
succession to the crown of the imaginary land of Abys- 
sinia, surrounded by every luxury which can make life 
"agreeable, and shut off from all knowledge of those evils 
which can make it painful. The aim of the story is to 
show the vanity of expecting perfect happiness, and the 
folly of sacrificing present advantages for the delusive 
promises of the future. 

The scene opens in the Happy Valley, where there is 
all that labor or danger can procure or purchase, without 
either labor to be endured or danger to be dreaded. 
Rasselas illustrates the habitual discontent of man by 
wearying of the monotonous happiness of his royal home, 
and, together with his sister Nekayah, who shares his 
ennui, and Imlac, a man of learning, he escapes from the 
abode of changeless joys and perpetual merriment. 

*" Tristram ^handy," orig. ed., vol. viii, chap. 8. 



•' RASSELAS." 235 

Once beyond the barriers of the Happy Valley, Ras- 
selas and Nekayah seek in the various ranks and condi- 
tions of men the abode of true happiness. It is sought 
in v^ain amidst the hollow and noisy pleasures of the 
young and thoughtless ; in vain among philosophers, 
whose theories so ill accord with their practice ; in vain 
among shepherds, whose actual life contrasts so painfully 
with the descriptions of the poet ; in vain in crowds, where 
sorrow lurks beneath the outward smile ; in vain in the 
cell of the hermit, who counts the days till he shall once 
more mix with the world. The task becomes more hope- 
less with each new disappointment. Rasselas pursues 
his investigation among the higher ranks, in courts and 
cities; Nekayah, hers among the poor and humble, in the 
shop and the hamlet. But when the brother and sister 
meet to share their experiences, they both have the same 
tale to tell of human discontent. Finally, in returning 
disappointed to Abyssinia, they illustrate the tendency 
among men to look back with regret on the early pleas- 
ures of life, abandoned for the impossible happiness 
which discontent had taught them to seek. 

On this slight thread of narrative, Johnson strung his 
thoughts with great felicity. The characters, by the 
different views which they entertain of life, are distinct 
and individual. The book is filled with pregnant and 
beautiful passages, which leave a deep impression on the 
reader. The words in which Imlac describes to the 
Prince and Princess the dangers of an unrestrained im- 
agination, might, with equal propriety, find a place in a 
scientific treatise on the causes of insanity, and in a col- 
lection of beautiful literary extracts : 

To indulge the power of fiction, and send imagination out 
upon the wing, is often the sport of those who delight too 



236 HI STORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

much in silent speculation. When we are alone, we are not 
always busy ; the labour of excogitation is too violent to iast 
long ; the ardour of inquiry will sometimes give way to idle- 
ness or satiety. He who has nothing external that can divert 
him, must find pleasure in his own thoughts, and must con- 
ceive himself what he is not ; for who is pleased with what he 
is ? He then expatiates in boundless futurity, and culls from 
all imaginable conditions that which for the present moment 
he should most desire, amuses his desires with impossible en- 
joyments, and confers upon his pride unattainable dominion. 
The mind dances from scene to scene, unites all pleasures in 
all combinations, and riots in delights which nature and for- 
tune, with all their bounty, cannot bestow. 

In time, some particular train of ideas fixes the attention ; 
all other intellectual gratifications are rejected ; the mind, in 
weariness or leisure, recurs constantly to the favorite concep- 
tion, and feasts on the luscious falsehood whenever she is of- 
fended with the bitterness of truth. By degrees, the reign of 
fancy is confirmed ; she grows first imperious, and in time, 
despotic. Then fictions begin to operate as realities, false 
opinions fasten upon the mind, and life passes in dreams of 
rapture or of anguish.' 

The resemblance between Johnson's " Rasselas " and 
Voltaire's " Candide " is so marked, that had either 
author seen the other's work, he must have been sus- 
pected of imitation. But while both these great minds 
were writing at nearly the same time on the same theme 
of human misery, the lessons they taught differed in a 
manner which is strongly illustrative of the differences 
between the two men and their respective surroundings. 
French scepticism and distrust of divine power led Vol- 
taire to impute human griefs to the incapacity 0/ the 

'"Rasselas," chap. xliv. Contrast with Porter on "The Human Iniel- 
lect " pp. 371-2. 



" THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD." 237 

Creator. But Johnson, writing " Rass^las " in an hour 
of sorrow, to obtain means to pay for his mother's funer- 
al, taught that that happiness, which this world can not 
afford, should be sought in the prospect of another and a 
better.' 

All readers of Boswell know how the " Vicar of Wake- 
field " found a publisher. How Goldsmith's landlady 
arrested him for his rent, and how he wrote to Johnson 
in his distress. How the kind lexicographer sent a guinea 
at once, and followed to find the guinea already changed, 
and a bottle of Madeira before the persecuted but philo- 
sophical author. How Johnson put the cork in the bot- 
tle, and after a hasty glance at the MS. of the " Vicar 
of Wakefield," went out and sold it for sixty pounds. 
And how triumphantly Goldsmith rated his landlady. 

In the hands of that bookseller, who purchased the novel 
as much out of charity as in hope of profit, the " Vicar 
of Wakefield " remained neglected, until the publication 
of " The Traveller " had made the author famous. This 
interval would have afforded Goldsmith ample time to 
correct the obvious inconsistencies and faults which his 
work contained. But in the spirit of a man who de- 
pended on his pen for his bread, he made no effort to 
improve what had already brought him all the/emunera- 
tion for which he could hope. This is the more to be 
regretted, that very little revision would have been suf- 
ficient to make the "Vicar of Wakefield " as perfect in its 
construction as in its style and spirit. " There are a 
hundred faults in this thing," says the preface, " and a 
hundred things might be said to prove them beauties. 
But it is needless. A book may be amusing with numer- 
ous errors, or it may be very dull without a single ab- 

^See Scott's *' Memoir of Johnson." 



238 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

surdity. The hero of this piece unites in himself the 
three greatest characters upon earth : — he is a priest, a 
husbandman, and the father of a family. He is drawn as 
ready to teach, and ready to obey — as simple in afflu- 
ence, and majestic in adversity." 

These few words are not an inaccurate statement of 
the merits and demerits of the "Vicar of Wakefield." 
Faults there are, certainly. The improbability of Sir 
William Thornhill's being able to go about among his 
own tenantry incognito, without other disguise than a 
change of dress ; the inconsistency of the philanthropist's 
allowing his villanous nephew to retain possession of 
the wealth which he used only to assist him in his 
crimes; and, finally, the impossibility of that nephew's 
being so nearly of an age with Sir William himself, when 
he must have been the son of a younger brother, are all 
blemishes which Goldsmith might easily have removed, 
had he not relied on the opinion which he expressed in 
Chapter xv, " the reputation of books is raised, not by 
their freedom from defect, but by the greatness of their 
beauties." 

Such a rule would be an obviously dangerous one for 
an author to follow. But Goldsmith's confidence in the 
beauties qf his novel was fully justified by the verdict of 
the world. No novelist has more deeply imbued his 
work with his own genius and spirit, and none have had 
a more beneficent genius, nor a more beautiful spirit to 
impart than the author of " The Deserted Village." The 
exquisite style, the delicate choice of words, the amiabil- 
ity of sentiment, so peculiarly his own, and so well suited 
to express the simple beauty of his thoughts, gave a 
charm to the work which familiarity can only endear. 
Dr. Primrose, preserving his simplicity, his modesty, and 



''THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD." 239 

his nobility of character alike when surrounded by the 
pleasures of his early and prosperous home, when strug- 
gling with the hardships of his ruined fortune, and 
when rewarded at last by the surfeit of good-fortune 
which follows his trial, stands high among the most noble 
conceptions of English fiction. " We read the ' Vicar of 
Wakefield,' " said the great Sir Walter, " in youth and 
in age. We return to it again and again, and bless the 
memory of an author who contrives so well to reconcile 
us to human nature." 

Goethe, when in his eighty-first year, declared that 
Goldsmith's novel " was his delight at the age of twenty, 
that it had in a manner formed a part of his education, 
influencing his tastes and feelings throughout life, and 
that he had recently read it again from beginning to 
end, with renewed delight, and with a grateful sense 
of the early benefit derived from it." " Rogers, the 
Nestor of British literature, whose refined purity of 
taste and exquisite mental organization rendered him 
eminently calculated to appreciate a work of the kind, 
declared that of all the books, which, through the fitful 
changes of three generations he had seen rise and 
fall, the charm of the ' Vicar of Wakefield ' had alone 
continued as at first ; and could he revisit the world after 
an interval of many more generations, he should as surely 
look to find it undiminished." So wrote Washington 
Irving ; and if the reader is inclined to look for the 
causes of the extraordinary endurance of Goldsmith's 
work, he can find them nowhere better stated than in the 
words of John Forster : " Not in those graces of style, 
nor even in that home-cherished gallery of familiar faces 
can the secret of its extraordinary fascination be said to 
consist. It lies nearer the heart. A something which 



240 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION'. 

has found its w^y there ; which, while it amused, lias 
made us iiappier; which, gently interweaving itself with 
our habits of thought, has increased our good-humour 
and charity ; which, insensibly it may be, has corrected 
wilful impatiences of temper, and made the world's daily 
accidents easier and kinder to us all ; somewhat thus 
should be expressed, I think, the charm of the ' Vicar of 
Wakefield.' " 

In 1760 was published " Chrysal, the Adventures of 
a Guinea," by Charles Johnstone, the author of several 
deservedly forgotten novels.' The first volume was sent 
to Dr. Johnson for his opinion, who thought, as Boswell 
tells us, that it should be published — an estimate justified 
by the considerable circulation which the book enjoyed. 

Chrysal is an elementary spirit, whose abode is in a 
piece of gold converted into a guinea. In that form the 
spirit passes from man to man, and takes accurate note 
of the different scenes of which it becomes a witness. 
This is a natural and favorable medium for a satire, which 
Johnstone probably owed, in some measure, both to the 
" Diable Boiteux " of Gil Bias, and the "Adventures of a 
Halfpenny " of Dr. Bathurst. The circulation of the 
guinea enables the author to describe the characteristics 
of its possessors as seen by a truthful witness, and he has 
taken advantage of his opportunity to produce one of 
the most disgusting records of vice in literature. A de- 
praved mind only could find any pleasure in reading 
" Chrysal," and whoever is obliged to read it from cover 
to cover for the purpose of describing it to others, must 
find himself, at the end of his task, in sore vexation of 
spirit. Human depravity is never an agreeable subject 

'"The Reverie," "The History of Arbaces," "The Pilgrim," "The 
History of John Juniper." 



"ADVENTURES OF A GUINEA." 241 

for a work of entertainment, and while Swift's genius 
holds the reader fascinated with the horror of his Ya- 
hoos, the ability of a Manley or a Johnstone is not suf- 
ficient to aid the reader in wading through their vicious 
expositions of corruption. It must be said that John- 
stone had some excuse. If he were to satirize society at 
all, it was better that he should do it thoroughly ; that 
he should expose official greed and dishonesty, the orgies 
of Medenham Abbey, the infamous extortions of trading 
justices, in all their native ugliness. It must be said that 
the time in which he lived presented many features to the 
painter of manners which could not look otherwise than 
repulsive on his canvas. But his zeal to expose the 
vices of his age led him into doing great injustice to some 
persons, and into grossly libelling others. He imputed 
crimes to individuals of which he could have had no 
knowledge; and he shamefully misrepresented the Meth- 
odists and the Jews. If Johnstone had wished to see 
how offensive a book he might write, and how disgust- 
ing and indecent a book the public of his day would 
read and applaud, he might well have brought "Chrysal " 
into the world. If he had intended, by exposing crime, 
to check it, he had better have burned his manuscript. 
He has added one other corruption to those he ex- 
posed, and one other evidence of the lack of taste and 
decency which characterized his time. No man can 
plead the intention of a reformer as an excuse for 
placing before the world the scenes and suggestions of 
unnatural crime which sully the pages of " Chrysal," and 
if men do, in single instances, fall below the level of 
brutes, he who gloats over their infamy and publishes 
their contagious guilt deserves some share of their odium. 
The novels of Henry Mackenzie have a charm of their 



242 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

own, which may be largely attributed to the fact that their 
author was a gentleman. Whoever has read, to any ex- 
tent, the works of fiction of the eighteenth century, must 
have observed how perpetually he was kept in low com- 
pany, how rarely he met with a character who had the 
instincts as well as the social position of a gentleman. A 
tone of refined sentiment and dignity pervades " The Man 
of Feeling," which recalls the " Vicar of Wakefield," and 
introduces the reader to better company and more ele- 
vated thoughts than the novels of the time usually af- 
ford. "The Man of Feeling" is hardly a narrative. 
Harley, the chief character, is a sensitive, retiring man, 
with feelings too fine for his surroundings. The author 
places him in various scenes, and traces the effect which 
each produces upon his character. The effect of the 
work is agreeable, though melancholy, and the early 
death of Harley completes the delineation of a man too 
gentle and too sensitive to battle with life. 

In his next novel Mackenzie described the counterpart 
of Harley, " The Man of the World." Almost any writer 
of the present day who took a man of the world for his 
hero, would draw him as a calm, philosophical person, 
neither very good nor very bad, — one who took the pleas- 
ures and troubles of life as they came, without quarrel- 
ling with either. But the man of the world as Mackenzie 
paints him, and as the eighteenth century made him, was 
quite another individual. Sir Thomas Sindall is a villain 
of the heroic type. Not one, simply, who does all the 
injury and commits all the crimes which chance brings in 
his way. He labors with a ceaseless persistency, and a 
resolution which years do not diminish, to seduce a single 
woman. Without any apparent passion, he finally accom- 
plishes his object by force, after having spent several 



MACKENZIE. 243 

yoars in ruining her brother to prevent his interference. 
The long periods of time, the great expenditure of vital 
energy, and the exhaustless fund of brutality which are 
CGt/sumed by the fictitious villains of the eighteenth 
ccjtury in gratifying what would seem merely a passing 
inclination, astonish the reader of to-day. The crime of 
rape, rarely now introduced into fiction, and rarely figur- 
ing even in criminal courts, is a common incident in old 
novels, and as commonly, remains unpunished. In Sir 
Thomas Sindall, Mackenzie meant to present a contrast 
to the delicate and benevolent character of Harley. 
Both are extremes, the one of sensibility, the other of 
brutality. Harley was a new creation, but Sindall quite 
a familiar person, with whom all readers of the novels of 
the last century have often associated. 

It was suggested very sensibly to Mackenzie, that the 
interest of most works of fiction depended on the de- 
signing villainy of one or more characters, and that in 
actual W^i calamities were more often brought about by 
the iniiocent errors of the sufferers. To place this view 
bciore his readers, Mackenzie wrote " Julia de Roubigne," 
in which a wife brings death upon herself and her hus- 
band by indiscreetly, though innocently, arousing his 
jealousy. Sir Walter Scott ranked this novel among the 
" most heart-wringing histories " that ever were written — 
a description which justly becomes it. Mackenzie's aim 
was less to weave a complicated plot, than to study and 
move the heart ; and to the lover of sentiment his novels 
may still be attractive. 

The *' Fool of Quality," by Henry Brooke, has haa a 
singular history. The author was a young Irishman of a 
fine figure, a well-stored mind, and a disposition of par- 
ticular gentleness. He was loved by Pope and Lyttle- 



244 HIS TOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

ton, caressed by the Prince of Wales, and honored by the 
friendly interest of Jonathan Swift. Married before he 
was twenty-one to a young girl who presented him with 
three children before she was eighteen, his life was a 
constant struggle to provide for a family which increased 
with every year. After a long period of active life, passed 
in literary occupations, he retired to an obscure part of 
Ireland, and there died, attended by a daughter, the only 
survivor of twenty-two children, who remembered noth- 
ing of her father " previous to his retirement from the 
world ; and knew little of him, save that he bore the in- 
firmities and misfortunes of his declining years with the 
heroism of true Christianity, and that he was possessed 
of virtues and feelings which shone forth to the last mo- 
ment of his life, unimpaired by the distractions of pain, 
and unshaken amid the ruins of genius."' 

The " Fool of Quality " was first published in 1766, and 
received a moderate share of public attention. Its narra- 
tive was extremely slight. Harry, the future Earl of 
Moreland, was stolen from his parents by an uncle in dis- 
guise ; and the five volumes of the work consist almost 
entirely of an account of the education of the child, and 
the various incidents which affected or illustrated his 
mental growth. One day John Wesley chanced to meet 
with it, and although he required his followers " to read 
only such books as tend to the knowledge and love 
of God," he was tempted to look into this particular 
novel. The "whimsical title " at first offended him, but 
as he proceeded, he became so enthusiastic over the 
moral excellence of the work, that he expunged some of- 
fensive passages it contained, and republished it for the 

' The facts of Brooke's life are taken fiom the introduction to the " Fool 
of Quality," by Rev. Charles Kingsley, New York, i86o. 



THE ''FOOL OF QUALITY." 245 

benefit of the Methodists. " I now venture to recom- 
mend the following treatise," said Wesley to his people, 
" as the most excellent in its kind that I have seen either 
in the English or any other language. * * * Jt per- 
petually aims at inspiring and increasing every right af- 
fection ; at the instilling gratitude to God and benevo- 
lence to man. And it does this not by dry, dull, tedious 
precepts, but by the liveliest examples that can be z6\\- 
ceived ; by setting before your eyes one of the most 
beautiful pictures that ever was drawn in the world. The 
strokes of this are so delicately fine, the touches so easy, 
natural, and affecting, that I know not who can survey it 
with tearless eyes, unless he has a heart of stone. I rec- 
ommend it, therefore, to all those who are already, or 
who desire to be, lovers of God and man." It was not as 
a good novel that Wesley either enjoyed or republished 
the " Fool of Quality." He recommended it for the ex- 
cellence of its moral, and the " Fool of Quality " would 
have been allowed to slumber forever on Methodist book- 
shelves, had it not been revived by a man who was an 
equally good judge of a moral and a work of fiction. 

But, in regard to this novel, it must be admitted that 
Charles Kingsley's judgment was seriously at fault. He 
saw both its qualities and its faults, but he did not 
realize that a good purpose will not make up for a 
poor execution. The causes of the neglect of the book, 
said the Canon in his preface, are to be found " in its 
deep and grand ethics, in its broad and genial human- 
ity, in the divine value which it attaches to the rela- 
tions of husband and wife, father and child, and to the 
utter absence, both of that sentimentalism and that 
superstition which have been alternately debauching of 
late years the minds of the young. And if he shall 



246 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION^ < 

have arrived at this discovery, he will be able possibly to 
regard at least with patience those who are rash enough 
to affirm that they have learnt from this book more which 
is pure, sacred, and eternal, than from any which has been 
published since Spenser's ' Fairy Queen.' " ' On the 
testimony of Wesley and of Kingsley, all the merits of a 
moral nature which they claim for the " Fool of Quality^' 
will readily be accorded to it. But it is ver}' doubtful 
that such qualities would necessarily interfere with the 
success of a work of fiction. The real reason why very few 
who can help it will read this novel, lies in those char- 
acteristics which Kingsley himself admitted would appear 
to the average reader. " The plot is extravagant as well 
as ill-woven, and broken, besides, by episodes as extrava- 
gant as itself. The morality is quixotic, and practically 
impossible. The sermonizing, whether theological or 
social, is equally clumsy and obtrusive. Without artistic 
method, without knowledge of human nature and the 
real world, the book can never have touched many hearts 
and can touch none now."* 

*It is singular that Kingsley should have expected that 
a book with so many and so evident faults could have 
remained popular simply because its moral v/as a good 
one. If he had sat down to warn the world against 
Henry Brooke's novel, he could hardly have expressed 
himself with more effect. Whatever merit it may have 
is buried under a mass of dulness almost impossible to 
penetrate, and a silliness pervades the characters and the 
conversations which inakes even the lighter portions 
unreadable. The " Fool of Quality " has all the draw- 
backs of a novel of purpose in an exaggerated form,. 

' Charles Kingsley, preface to the " Fool of Quality." 
^ Kingsley's preface to " Fool of Quality." 



THE FOOL OF QUALITY. 247 

The improvement of his reader is a laudable object 
for a novelist. But it is an object which can be success- 
fully carried out in a work of art, only very indirectly. 
An author may have a great influence for good, but 
that influence can be obtained, not by deliberate ser- 
monizing, but only by a tone of healthy sentiment which 
insensibly elevates the reader's mind. 

Toward the end of the eighteenth century, the number 
and variety of works of fiction rapidly increased. William 
Beckford, whom Byron calls in " Childe Harold," " Va- 
thek, England's wealthiest son," wrote in his twerfiieth 
year the oriental romance " Vathek," which excited great 
attention at the time. It was composed in three days 
and two nights, during which the author never took 
off his clothes. Byron considered this tale superior 
to " Rasselas." It represented the downward career 
of an oriental prince, who had given himself up to 
sensual indulgence, and who is allured by a Giaour into 
the commission of crimes which lead him to everlasting 
and horrible punishments. " Vathek " gives evidence of 
a familiarity with oriental customs, and a vividness of 
imagination which are remarkable in so youthful an 
author. The descriptions of the Caliph and of the Hall 
of Eblis are tull of power. But in depth of meaning, and 
in that intrinsic worth which gives endurance to a lit- 
erary work, it bears no comparison to " Rasselas." The 
one affords an hour's amusement ; the other retains its 
place among those volumes which are read and re-read 
with constant pleasure and satisfaction. 

The novels of Richard Cumberland, " Henry," " Arun- 
del," and " John de Lancaster," contain some well-drawn 
characters and readable sketches of life. But Cumber- 
land had little originality. He aimed without sue- 



248 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

cess at Fielding's constructive excellence, and imitated 
that great master's humor, only to reproduce his coarse- 
ness. The character of Ezekiel Daw, the Methodist, 
in " Henry," is fair and just, and contrasts very favorably 
with the libellous representations of the Methodist preach- 
ers in Graves' " Spiritual Quixote," and other contem- 
porary novels. Another writer of fiction of considerable 
prominence in his day, but of none in ours, was Dr. 
Moore, whose " Zeluco " contained some very lively 
" Views of human nature, taken from life and manners, 
foreign and domestic," but also some very disagreeable 
exhibitions of human degradation and vice. 

The influence of the French Revolution in England is 
apparent in the works of several novelists who wrote at 
the end of the eighteenth century, Thomas Holcroft 
embodied radical views in novels now quite forgotten,* 
Robert Bage has left four works containing opinions of a 
revolutionary character — " Barham Downs," "James 
Wallace," " The Fair Syrian," and " Mount Henneth," 
These novels are written in the form of a series of letters 
and have little narrative interest. The author has 
striven, sometimes successfully, at a powerful delineation 
of character, but his works are too evidently a vehicle for 
his political and philosophical opinions. He represents 
with unnatural consistency the upper classes as invari- 
ably corrupt and tyrannical, and the lower as invariably 
honest and deserving. His theories are not only inartis- 
tically prominent, but are worthless and immoral. He 
looks upon a tax-gatherer as a thief, and condones 
feminine unchastity as a trivial and unimportant offence. 

The novelist most deeply embued with the doctrines 
of the French Revolution was William Godwin — a man of 

' " Alwyn," " Anna St. Ives," " Hugh Trevor," "Bryan Perdue." 



" CALEB WILLIAM Sr 249 

I" 

great literary ambition, and less literary capacity. His 
"Life of Chaucer" has the merits of a compilation, but 
not those of an original literary work. His political and 
social writings were merely reproductions of French rev- 
olutionary views, and were entirely discredited by 
Malthus' attacks upon them. The same lack of origi- 
nality and of independent power characterized Godwin's 
novels. They all have a patch-work effect, and in all 
may be found the traces of imitation. " St. Leon " and 
" Mandeville " ' are dull attempts in the direction of 
the historical novel. " Fleetwood, or the New Man of 
Feeling " embodies some of the author's social views, 
and contains evidence of an imitation of Fielding and 
Smollett, in which only their coarseness is successfully 
copied. 

But Godwin gave one book to the world which has 
acquired a notoriety which entitles it to a more extended 
notice than its intrinsic merits would otherwise justify. 
" Caleb Williams " was first published in 1794, and was 
widely read. Lord Byron is said to have threatened his 
wife that he would treat her as Falkland had treated 
Caleb Williams, and this fact brought the novel into 
prominence with the Byron controversy, and occasioned 
its republication in the present century. The author 
tells us that his object was " to comprehend a general 
review of the modes of domestic and unrecorded despot- 
ism by which man becomes the destroyer of man." And 
this was to be done "without subtracting from the inter- 
est and passion by which a performance of this sort (a 
novel) ought to be characterized." In both his didactic 
and his artistic purpose the author must be said to have 
failed. The story is briefly as follows : Falkland, who is 
' Published in 1817, when the author was far advanced in years. 



250 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

represented as a man whose chief thought and considera- 
tion consist in guarding his honor from stain, stabs 
Tyrrel, his enemy, in the back, at night. He then allows 
two innocent men to suffer for the murder on the gal- 
lows. His aim, during the remainder of his life, is to 
prevent the discovery of his crime and the consequent 
disgrace to his name. Caleb W^iliiams enters his employ- 
ment as a secretary, discovers the secret with the great- 
est ease, and promises never to betray his patron. Wil- 
liams soon becomes weary of his position, and attempts 
to escape. He is accused by Falkland of robbery and is 
imprisoned. He escapes from prison, and wanders about 
the country, always pursued by the hirelings of his 
master who use every means to render his life miserable. 
Finally he openly accuses Falkland of his crime, who 
confesses it and dies. The story is full of the most evi- 
dent inconsistencies. There is no adequate reason for 
Tyrrel's hatred of Falkland, which leads to the murder. 
It is inconceivable that a man of Falkland's worship of 
honor should commit so dastardly a crime, and should 
suffer two innocent men to pay its penalty. The facility 
with which Falkland allows his secretary to discover a 
secret which would bring him to the gallows is entirely 
inconsistent with the strength of mind which the author 
imputes to his hero. Finally, the confession of crime, 
after so many years of secrecy, and when conscience 
must have been blunted by time and habit, is without 
adequate cause. The characters are very slightly 
sketched, and excite neither interest nor sympathy. 
Emily Melville resembles Pamela too closely, and Tyrrel 
is a poor reproduction of Squire Western. 

Godwin tells us that, when thinking over " Caleb Wil- 
liams," he said to himself a thousand times : " I will write 



"EVELINA." 251 

a tale, that shall constitute an epoch in the mind of the 
reader, that no one, after he has read it, shall ever be 
exactly the same man that he was before." The effort, 
and straining after effect which this confession implies, 
are evident throughout the work. The reader's curiosity 
is continually excited by the promise of new interest and 
new developments, but he is as continually disappointed. 
The main idea of the story is certainly a striking one, but 
it is feebl)' carried out. The constitution of society can- 
not be effectively attacked by so improbable and excep- 
tional an illustration of tyranny as the persecution of 
Caleb Williams. 

III. 

The publication of "Evelina," in 1778, made a sensa- 
tion which the merits of the work fully justified. The 
story of Miss Burney's' early life, her furtive attempts 
at fictitious composition, the great variety of artistic 
and political characters who passed in review before 
her observant eyes at Dr. Burney's house have been 
made familiar by her own- diary and letters. Petted and 
admired by Johnson, Mrs. Thrale, and the brilliant liter- 
ary society of which they formed the centre, she lived 
sufificiently far into the present century to see the works 
of her early friends enrolled among the classics or con- 
signed to oblivion, and to recognize that the approval of 
posterity had been added -to the early fame of her own 
writings. As a very young girl, unnoticed by the distin- 
guished persons who frequented her father's house, she 
had studied with careful attention the characters and 
manners of those who talked and moved about her. A 
strong desire to reproduce the impressions which filled 

' Afterward Madame D'Arblay. 



252 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

her mind induced Miss Burney in her sixteenth year to 
devote her stolen hours of seclusion to fictitious compo- 
sition. Discouraged in her early efforts by her step- 
mother, her habits of observation remained active, and 
took form, when the authoress was twenty-five years old, 
in the famous novel of " Evelina." The book was issued 
secretly and anonymously, the publisher even being ig- 
norant of the writer's true name. But the immediate 
popularity and admiration which greeted the work soon 
led to its open acknowledgment by the happy young au- 
thoress. 

And " Evelina " fully deserved the praise and interest 
which it then obtained and still excites. The aim was 
to describe the difficulties and sensations of a young girl 
just entering life. The heroine chosen by Miss Burney 
was one whose circumstances particularly well suited her 
to form the centre of a varied collection of characters 
and of a comprehensive picture of contemporary society. 
Well connected on her father's side, Evelina moved in 
fashionable circles with the Mirvan family. On account 
of the origin of her mother she was brought into close 
contact with humbler personages, with Madame Duval 
and the Brangtons. Hence this novel presents to the 
reader a variety of social scenes which gives it a value 
possessed by no other work of fiction of the eighteenth 
century. No novelist has described so well or so fully 
the aspect of the theatres, of Vauxhall and Ranelagh, of 
Bath in the season, of the ridottos and assemblies of the 
London fashionable world. The shops, the amusements 
and the manners of the middle classes are made familiar 
to Evelina by her association with the Brangtons, and 
add greatly to the breadth of this valuable picture of 
metropolitan life. With a feminine attention to detail, 



''EVELINA." 253 

and a quick perception of salient characteristics, Miss 
Burney described the world about her so faithfully and 
picturesquely as to deserve the thanks of every student 
of social history. The novel of " Evelina," the letters of 
Horace Walpole and Mrs. Delany corroborate each 
other, and may be appropriately placed on the same 
shelf in a well-ordered library. 

In the painting of manners Miss Burney was eminently 
successful. But she was hardly less so in a point in 
which excellence could not have been expected in so 
youthful a writer. The plot of " Evelina " is constructed 
with a skill worthy of a veteran. Fielding alone, of the 
eighteenth century novelists, can be said to surpass Miss 
Burney in this respect. The whole story of the mis- 
chances and misunderstandings of Evelina's intercourse 
with Lord Orville, the skill with which the various per- 
sonages are brought into contact with each other and 
made to contribute to the final denoihnent, compose a 
truly artistic success. The introduction of Macartney 
and his marriage to the supposed daughter of Sir John 
Belmont form a very happy and effective invention. 

In regard to her sketches of character, it may be ob- 
jected that Miss Burney lacked breadth of treatment, 
that she dwelt on one distinctive characteristic at the ex- 
pense of the others. But still, Lord Orville, though 
somewhat too much of a model, and Mrs. Selwyn, though 
somewhat too habitually a wit, are vivid and life-like 
characters. The Brangtons and Sir Clement Willougby 
are nature itself, and the girlish nature of Evelina is be- 
trayed in her letters with great felicity. 

It is no small triumph for Miss Burney, who has had 

t so many and so deserving competitors in the department 

of literature to which she contributed, that her novels 



254 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

should have remained in active circulation for more than 
a century after their publication. "Cecilia" has much 
the same merits which distinguished " Evelina," and the 
two novels bid fair to hold their own as long as English 
fiction retains its popularity. Johnson considered Miss 
Burney equal to Fielding. But although she possessed 
qualities similar to his — constructive power and pict- 
uresqueness — she possessed them in a lesser degree. In 
the management of the difificulties of the epistolary form 
of novel-writing, she surpassed Richardson in verisimili- 
tude and concentration. 

Some readers of the present day object to Miss Bur- 
ney 's novels that they contain so many references to 
"delicacy" and "propriety" that an air of affectation is 
produced. But at the time when " Evelina " was written, 
a perpetual discretion in actions and words was absolute- 
ly necessary to a young woman who did not wish to be 
subjected to libertine advances. Society is now so much 
more generally refined that there is far less danger of 
such misconstruction, and far less need for a young girl 
to be always on her guard. A sound objection, on the 
ground of taste, may be made against the excessively 
prolonged account of Captain Mirvan's brutalities. The 
effect might have been as well produced in a much 
shorter space, and the reader spared the uninteresting 
scenes which now fill so many repulsive pages. For 
this defect, however, we must blame the times more than 
the author. 

Charlotte Lennox was the daughter of Sir James Ram- 
say, Lieutenant-governor of New York, where she was 
born in 1720. When fifteen years of age she was sent to 
London, and there supported herself by her pen. John- 
son said that he had " dined at Mrs. Garrick's with Mrs. 



MRS. INCHBALD. 255 

Carter, Miss Hannah More, and Miss Fanny Burney: 
three such women are not to be found. I know not 
where I could find a fourth, — except Mrs. Lennox, who is 
superior to them all." Such high praise was not called 
forth by Mrs. Lennox's novels, which have little originality 
or power. " The Female Quixote " is an entertaining 
satire on the old French romances, but " Sophia " and 
" Euphemia" are without any special interest. 

A writer of more ability, whose name is still remembered 
by novel-readers, is Mrs. Inchbald. She was overcome in 
early life by an enthusiasm for the stage ; ran away from 
home to find theatrical employment, and remained for 
many years a popular London actress. Although pos- 
sessed of great and durable beauty, and the object of 
constant attention from aristocratic admirers, it is believed 
that her reputation continued unsullied. Her poverty, 
largely caused by a worthless husband, obliged her to 
perform the most menial labors. She rejoiced on one 
occasion that the approach of warmer weather released 
her from the duty of making fires, scouring the grate, 
sifting the cinders, and of going up and down three pair 
of long stairs with water or dirt. All this Mrs. Inchbald 
thought that she could cheerfully bear, but the labor of 
being a fine lady the remainder of the day was almost 
too much for her. " Last Thursday," she wrote to a 
friend, " I finished scouring my bed-chamber, while a 
coach with a coronet and two footmen waited at the door 
to take me an airing." 

The same courage and industry were carried by Mrs. 
Inchbald into her literary labors, the profits of which 
enabled her to live with considerable comfort toward the 
end of her life. She left a large number of plays, many 
of which had been acted with success, and two novels, 



256 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

"A Simple Story," published in 1791, and "Nature and 
Art," published five years later. Neither of these works 
has much merit from a critical point of view. They are 
faulty in construction, and give frequent evidence of the 
authoress' lack of education. 

Yet, in her ability to excite the interest and to move 
the feelings of her reader, Mrs. Inchbald met with great 
success. Her novels are of the pathetic order, and ap- 
peal to the sympathies with a sometimes powerful effect. 
Maria Edgeworth was deeply moved by the " Simple 
Story." " Its effect upon my feelings," she said after 
reading it for the fourth time, " was as powerful as at the 
first reading: I never read any novel — I except none, — I 
never read any novel that affected me so strongly, or 
that so completely possessed me with the belief in the 
real existence of all the persons it represents. I never 
once recollected the author whilst I was reading it ; never 
said or thought, that 's a fine sentiment, — or, tJiat is well 
expressed, — or, that is well invented ; I believed all to be 
real, and was affected as I should be by the real scenes, 
if they had passed before my eyes: it is truly and deeply 
pathetic." 

The sisters, Harriet and Sophia Lee, wrote a number 
of stories gathered together under the rather unfortu- 
nate title of " The Canterbury Tales," which had a long- 
continued popularity. "The Young Lady's Tale," and 
" The Clergyman's Tale " were written by Sophia ; all the 
others, together with the novel "Errors of Innocence," 
belonged to Harriet. These stories have great narrative 
interest, and contain some powerfully drawn characters. 
Byron was deeply affected by some of them. Of the 
"German's Tale," he confessed: "It made a deep im- 
pression on me, and may be said to contain the germ of 



OTHER FEMALE NOVELISTS. 257 

much that I have since written." It not only contained 
the germ of "Werner," but supplied the whole material 
for that tragedy. All the characters of the novel are 
reproduced by Byron except " Ida," whom he added. 
The plan of Miss Lee's work is exactly followed, as the 
poet admitted, and even the language is frequently 
adopted without essential change. * 

Charlotte Smith was a woman of talent and imagina- 
tion who was driven to literature for aid in supporting a 
large family abandoned by their spendthrift father. She 
was among the most prolific novelists of her time, but 
only one work, " The Old Manor House," enjoyed more 
than a passing reputation, or has any claim to particular 
mention here. The chief merit of Charlotte Smith's 
novels lies in their descriptions of scenery, an element 
only just entering into the work of the novelist. 

Clara Reeve and the celebrated Mrs. Radcliffe did 
much to sustain the prominent position which women 
were taking in fictitious composition, and their works will 
be commented upon in connection with the romantic re- 
vival, to which movement they were eminent contribu- 
tors. 

Toward the end of the eighteenth century, the number 
and variety of works of fiction increased with remarkable 
rapidity. The female sex supplied its full share, both in 
amount and in excellence of work. But those who de- 
sire to see the advent of women into new walks of active 
life on the ground that their presence and participation 
add to the purity of every occupation they adopt, can 
find no illustration of the theory in the connection of 
women with fictitious composition. Mrs. Behn, Mrs. 
Manley, and Mrs. Heywood, the earliest female novelists, 
produced the most inflammatory and licentious novels of 



258 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

their time. At a later period, during the eighteenth cent- 
ury, although some female writers exhibited a very ex- 
ceptional refinement, the majority showed in this respect 
no marked superiority to their masculine contemporaries. 
In our own time, whoever would make a list of those 
novels which are most evidently immoral in their teach- 
ings and licentious in their tone, would be obliged to 
seek them almost quite as much among the works of fe- 
male writers, as among those of the rougher sex. 

To write a really excellent novel, is among the most 
difficult of literary feats. But to write a poor one has 
often been found an easy undertaking. The apparent 
facility of fictitious composition has deceived great num- 
bers of literary aspirants, and has filled the circulating 
libraries with a vast collection of thoroughly worthless 
productions. This unfortunate fecundity, to Avhich the 
department of fiction is subject, began to be conspicuous 
at the end of the eighteenth century,' and excited much 
opposition to novels of all kinds. Hannah More, in her 
essays on female education, inveighed against the evil in 
terms which are quite as applicable at the present day. 
" Who are those ever multiplying authors, that with un- 
paralleled fecundity are overstocking the world with 
their quick-succeeding prog'eny ? They are novel-writers ; 
the easiness of whose productions is at once the cause of 
their own fruitfulness, and of the almost infinitely numer- 
ous race of imitators to whom they give birth. Such is 
the frightful facility of this species of composition, that 
every raw girl, while she reads, is tempted to fancy that 
she can also write. And as Alexander, on perusing the 
Iliad, found by congenial sympathy the image of Achilles 

^ See the " Progress of Romance," by Clara Reeve, for the names of many 
now forgotten novels, for which room cannot be spared hers. 



THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL. 259 

stamped on his own ardent soul, and felt himself the hero 
he was studymg ; and as Correggio, on first beholding a 
picture which exhibited the perfection of the graphic art, 
prophetically felt all his own future greatness, and cried 
out in rapture: 'And I, too, am a painter!' So a thor- 
ough-paced novel-reading miss, at the close of every tissue 
of hackneyed adventures, feels within herself the stirring 
impulse of corresponding genius, and triumphantly ex- 
claims : ' And I, too, am an author ! ' The glutted 
imagination soon overflows with the redundance of cheap 
sentiment and plentiful incident, and, by a sort of arith- 
metical proportion, is enabled by the perusal of any three 
novels, to produce a fourth ; till every fresh production, 
like the prolific progeny of Banquo, is followed by 

Another, and another, and another ! ' " 

IV. 

The writers who took the chief part in originating and 
sustainmg the romantic revival in English fiction were 
Horace Walpole, Clara Reeve, and Mrs. Radcliffe. As 
we have called upon the testimony of Walpole so often 
in this work, and as we are now to consider him as an 
author, some account of his personal appearance may be 
of interest. " His figure," says Miss Hawkins, " was 
not merely tall, but long and slender to excess ; his com- 
plexion, and particularly his hands, of a most unhealthy 
paleness. His eyes were remarkably bright and pene- 
trating, very dark and lively : — his voice was not strong, 
but his tones were extremely pleasant, and, if I may so 
say, highly gentlemanly. I do not remember his com- 
mon gait ; he always entered a room in that style of af- 
fected delicacy which fashion had then made almost 



26o HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

natural ; chapeait bras between his hands as if he wished 
to compress it, or under his arm ; knees bent, and feet 
on tiptoe, as if afraid of a wet floor. His dress in visit- 
ing was most usually, in summer, when I most saw him, 
a lavender suit, the waistcoat embroidered with a little 
silver, or of white silk worked in the tambour, partridge 
silk stockings, and gold buckles, ruffles and frill generally 
lace. I remember, when a child, thinking him very much 
under-dressed, if at any time, except in mourning, he wore 
hemmed cambric. In summer, no powder, but his wig 
combed straight, and showing his very smooth, pale 
forehead, and queued behind ; in winter, powder." 

Posterity has cause to regret that Horace Walpole, of 
all men best fatted by personal knowledge and ability to 
draw a picture of the brilliant society of his time, should 
have contributed no work to the department of realistic 
fiction. Had the keen observation and experience of the 
world so conspicuous in his letters been brought to bear 
on a narrative of real life not less ably constructed than 
that of " The Castle of Otranto," an addition of no little 
value to the social history of the eighteenth century 
must have been the result. But although Walpole at- 
tempted no novel in which he might have depicted the 
fashionable life of which he was so faithful a chronicler, 
he yet tried an experiment in fiction for which he was pe- 
culiarly qualified by his antiquarian studies and his fond- 
ness for the arts and customs of feudal times. 

The object of " The Castle of Otranto " was to unite the 
characteristic elements of the ancient romance with those 
of the modern novel. It was attempted to introduce into 
a narrative constructed with modern order and sequence, 
such supernatural events as controlled the incidents of ro- 
mantic fiction. To accomplish this result, it was necessary 



''THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO." 261 

that the viise en scene should be impressive and awe-inspir- 
ing, that the reader's mind should be insensibly prepared by 
strange surroundings for extraordinary incidents. In his 
selection of age and scene, Walpole was highly judicious. 
He chose the feudal period, when superstition accorded 
the most ready belief to supernatural agencies. He in- 
troduced his reader to a huge, gloomy castle, furnished 
with towers, donjons, subterranean passages, and trap- 
doors. He took for his hero, Manfred, a fierce and cruel 
knight, who had obtained his lands by duplicity and 
blood ; whose chief aim in life was to continue his pos- 
terity in possession of wrongfully acquired power. He 
added subordinate characters of a kind to aid the effect 
of supernatural phenomena : a monk in a neighboring 
convent, who threatened Manfred with divine visitation 
for his crimes ; superstitious servants, whose easy fears 
exaggerated every unusual sound or foot-fall. He gave 
an mterest to his narrative by the love-passages of Man- 
fred's daughters, which were perpetually at the mercy of 
the fate which hung over the castle. He introduced his 
supernatural effects in the form of a gigantic gauntlet seen 
on the stair-rail ; a gigantic helmet which crushed the son 
and heir of the house as he was about to be married and 
to carry out his father's hopes ; a skeleton monk who 
urged the rightfi I owner of the castle to take his own 
from the usurper's hands. 

In attempting to make a regularly constructed narra- 
tive depend on supernatural agencies, Walpole undoubt- 
edly succeeded as far as success was possible. But it may 
be said without hesitation that real success was unattain- 
able. The very merits of " The Castle of Otranto " sus- 
tain this decision. The experiment had a fair trial. The 
narrative of Manfred's crimes and the punishments vis- 



262 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION: 

ited upon them, the characters and actions of subordi- 
nate personages are all managed with skill ; while the 
supernatural agencies are introduced at the proper times 
and have the expected effects. But the real test of suc- 
cess in such an attempt must lie in the impression made 
on the reader's mind. And this impression may be of 
two kinds. Let us imagine a group of young people sit- 
ting about the dying embers of a fire on a winter's even- 
ing, listening to a ghost story. The black darkness, the 
sound of the wind howling without, accord with the low 
tones, the dim light, and the tale of horror within. The 
minds of the listeners insensibly cast off their ordinary 
trains of thought, and give themselves up to the unreal 
impressions of the moment. The incredible circumstances 
of the apparition are accepted without question or criti- 
cism ; the impression of the supernatural occurrences is 
alone thought of and enjoyed. But now, let the same 
tale be read aloud after breakfast, from a new.spaper, with 
the affidavits of the witnesses of the apparition duly at- 
tached, and only laughter can be the result. 

Now let us apply the same test to romance. We open 
the " Morte d' Arthur " ; we find ourselves at once in an 
unreal, almost nameless land ; we meet with knights 
whom we only know apart by their armor, and queens 
ambling through pathless forests on white palfreys ; we 
attend brilliant tournaments and witness superhuman 
deeds of arms. Our minds, untroubled by scepticism 
and thoughtless of unreality, yield themselves to the 
poetical illusion. Who stops to think of the incredible 
when Sir Bedivere hurls into the lake the dying Arthur's 
sword Excalibur? 

Then Sir Bedivere departed, and went to the sword, and 
lightly took it up, and went to th& water side, and there 



'THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO." 263 

he bound the girdle about the hilts, and then he threw 
the sword as far into the water as he might, and there 
came an arm and an hand above the water, and met it, and 
caught it, and so shook it thrice and brandished, and then 
vanished away the hand with the sword in the water. 

But when we are introduced to the castle of Otranto, 
when we know its dimensions and appearance, when we 
have become acquainted with its inmates, and have been 
made to realize that they are flesh and blood like our- 
selves, we cannot receive without a shock the account of 
the supernatural occurrences by which they are affected. 
It is as if we listened to a ghost story in the glare of day- 
light, and in the full activity of our critical faculties. 

" Thou art no lawful prince," said Jerome ; " thou art no 
prince — go, discuss thy claim with Frederic ; and when that is 

done " " It is done," replied Manfred ; " Frederic accepts 

Matilda's hand, and is content to waive his claim, unless I 
have no male issue." As he spoke these words three drops 
of blood fell from the nose of Alfonso's statue. 

" The Castle of Otranto " is an entertaining, well-con- 
structed romance which may absorb the attention of 
young people, and indeed of all readers who delight in 
tales of superstitious horror. But looked upon as a 
work of art, it contains discordant elements. The realis- 
tic manner in which the scene and characters are made 
known, the exactitude with which the incidents are com- 
bined, are in constant opposition to that poetical ideality 
without which the supernatural cannot take possession of 
the mind. In reading the " Morte d' Arthur " we are m- 
sensibly penetrated by an atmosphere of the marveiloui 
which makes a giant a natural companion, and a magic 



264 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

sword a necessary part of a warrior's outfit. But Man- 
fred and his family are so essentially human, and theii 
surroundings are so realistic, that the reader's sense of 
congruity is shocked by the introduction of a bleeding 
statue or a skeleton monk. 

This was evident to Miss Clara Reeve, who hoped to 
attain success in the attempt to unite the romance and 
the novel by limiting all supernatural occurrences to the 
verge of probability. It is obvious that the line would 
be difficult to draw. Miss Reeve drew it at ghosts. In 
the " Old English Baron," she took a story similar to 
that of Walpole. She presented to the reader a castle 
whose real owner had been murdered, and of which the 
rightful heir, ignorant of his birth, lived as a dependent 
on the wrongful possessor. The story turned on the 
revelation of the secret by the ghost of the murdered 
knight. 

"God defend us!" said Edmund; "but I verily believe 
that the person that owned this armor lies buried under us." 
Upon this a dismal, hollow groan was heard, as if from under- 
neath. A solemn silence ensued, and marks of fear were visi- 
ble upon all three ; the groan was thrice heard. 

To the average mind of the present day Clara Reeve's 
ghost is not less improbable and incredible than Wal- 
pole's gigantic helmet. If the reader is prepared by the 
poetic nature of a narrative for the influence of the super- 
natural, he will receive all marvels with equal ease; but 
if he be not prepared, if his mind be occupied during the 
greater part of the work with actual and ordinary occur- 
rences, any supernatural event is rejected. Miss Reeve 
introduced far less of the incredible than her predecessor, 
but she did not approach Walpole in the adaptation o£ 



MES. RADCLIFFE. 265 

her scenes to supernatural effects. It requires less imagi- 
nation to see a figure walk out of a portrait in the gloomy 
castle of Otranto, than to hear the groan of Miss Reeve's 
spectre. 

The incompatibility of the real and the unreal in the 
same work is sufficiently shown by the course pursued by 
the different writers who took part in the romantic re- 
vival. Walpole had boldly introduced a skeleton monk, 
and had crushed one of his characters by a gigantic hel- 
met which fell from the sky. Clara Reeve's sense of 
congruity was shocked by so strong a contrast between the 
usual and the extraordinary, and therefore limited herself 
to a single supernatural effect, which might inspire fear 
while yet remaining within the bounds of superstitious 
credulity. The next and greatest contributor to the ro- 
mantic revival still further modified the methods of her 
predecessors, and in so modifying them, testified her 
doubts of their efificacy. Mrs. Radcliffe's plan was not 
to summon a spectre from his resting-place and to make 
him move among flesh and blood personages. She sim- 
ply described the superstitious fears of her heroes and 
heroines, and sought to make her reader share in them. 
She excited the imagination by highly wrought scenes of 
horror, but instead of ascribing those scenes to the inter- 
vention of supernatural beings, she showed them to pro- 
ceed from natural causes. The terror felt by her fictitious 
characters and shared by the reader, was not so much in- 
spired by real dangers from without, as by superstitious 
fear within. The following passage will illustrate Mrs. 
Radcliffe's method of dealing with the supernatural : 

From the disturbed slumber into which she then sunk, she 
was soon awakened by a noise, which seemed to arise withia 



266 HISTOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

her chamber ; but the silence that prevailed, as she fearfully 
listened, inclined her to believe that she had been alarmed by- 
such sounds as sometimes occur in dreams, and she laid her 
head again upon the pillow. 

A return of the noise again disturbed her ; it seemed to 
come from that part of the room which communicated with the 
private staircase, and she instantly remembered the odd circum- 
stance of the door having been fastened during the preceding 
night by some unknown hand. The late alarming suspicion 
concerning its communication also occurred to her. Her 
heart became faint with terror. Half raising herself from the 
bed, and gently drawing aside the curtain, she looked toward 
the door of the staircase, but the lamp that burnt on the 
hearth spread so feeble a light through the apartment, that the 
remote parts of it were lost in shadow. The noise, however, 
which she was convinced came from the door, continued. It 
seemed like that made by the undrawing of rusty bolts, and 
often ceased, and was then renewed more gently, as if the 
hand that occasioned it was restrained by a fear of discovery. 
While Emily kept her eyes fixed on the spot, she saw the door 
move, and then slowly open, and perceived something enter 
the room, but the extreme duskiness prevented her perceiving 
what it was. Almost fainting with terror, she had yet sufificient 
command over herself to check the shriek that was escaping 
from her lips, and, letting the curtain drop from her hand, con- 
tinued to observe in silence the motions of the mysterious 
figure she saw. It seemed to glide along the remote obscurity 
of the apartment, then paused, and, as it approached the 
hearth, she perceived, in the stronger light, what appeared to 
be a human figure. Certain remembrances now struck upon 
her heart, and almost subdued the feeble remains of her spirit. 
She continued, however, to watch the figure, which remained 
for some time motionless, but then, advancing slowly toward 
the bed, stood silently at the feet, where the curtains, being a 
little open, allowed her still to see it : terror, however, had 



MRS. RADCLIFFE. 26/ 

now deprived her of the power of discrimination, as well as 
that of utterance.' 

This scene is an excellent example of Mrs. Radcliffe's 
power of depicting and exciting fear. The loneliness of 
Emily in the castle, her dread of real dangers inclining 
her mind to expect the unreal, are shown with an art of 
which neither Walpole nor Reeve were capable. But, 
while these writers would have introduced a real spectre 
as the disturber of Emily's slumber, Mrs. Radcliffe is 
contented with the terror she has aroused, and hastens 
to explain its cause. 

Having continued there a moment, the form retreatea tow- 
ards the hearth, when it took the lamp, held it up, surveyed 
the chamber for a few moments, and then again advanced tow- 
ards the bed. The light at that instant awakening the dog 
that had slept at Emily's feet, he barked loudly, and, jumping 
to the floor, flew at the stranger, who struck the animal smartly 
with a sheathed sword, and springing towards the bed, Emily 
discovered — Count Morano. 

These passages afford evidence of both the strength 
and the weakness of Mrs. Radcliffe's work. She chose 
a scene calculated to inspire horror, she subjected 
to its influence a lonely female, and she then described 
with blood-curdling minuteness each detail which could 
enhance the sense of hidden danger which it was her 
purpose to excite. While the reader follows such 
portions of her writings, he is carried by the force and 
picturesqueness of Mrs. Radcliffe's language into a con- 
dition of sympathy with the fears of the fictitious per- 
sonage. But the moment that the scene of horror is 

' " The Mysteries of Udolpho," chap. xix. 



268 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

past, that the hidden danger is revealed, that it turns 
out to be no ghost but only a Count Morano, all Mrs. 
RadcHffe's power is required to prevent an anti-climax. 
This weakness is very different from that of Walpole or 
Reeve. They failed to excite the feeling of superstitious 
fear. Mrs. Radcliffe excited it, but she destroyed its 
effect by revealing the inadequacy of its cause. The 
works of Walpole, Clara Reeve, and particularly of Mrs. 
Radcliffe, contain very decided merits. They made a 
school which has found many admirers and has given a 
vast deal of pleasure. But the school was founded on 
wrong principles and could not endure. It is impossible 
for the mind to enjoy the supernatural while it is chained 
down to every-day life by realistic descriptions of scenes 
and persons. And it is equally impossible to perma- 
nently please by fear-inspiring narratives, when the 
reader is aware that all the while there is no sufficient 
cause for the hero's terror. 

But what Mrs. Radcliffe attempted, she carried out 
with a very great skill. She placed the scenes of her 
narratives in Sicily, in Italy, or the south of France, and 
made good use of the warm natures and vivid imagina- 
tions which are born of southern climates. Every aid 
which an effective mise en scene could supply to her 
supernatural effects was most skilfully brought into play. 
Lonely castles, secret passages, gloomy churches, and 
monkish superstitions, — all were adapted to the tale of 
unknown dangers and fearful predicaments which Mrs. 
Radcliffe had to tell. She kept up with remarkable 
strength a supernatural tone which insensibly aids the 
imagination. In her descriptions of scenery, she chose 
nature in its most awe-inspiring forms, and instilled into 
the reader's mind the same sense of the insignificance of 



JIJUS. RADCLIFFE. 269 

man, under the influence of which her heroes and hero- 
ines so continually remain. We are reminded of 
Buckle's description of the effect of nature upon human 
imagination and credulity when we notice the striking 
manner in which Mrs. Radcliffe moulded the surround- 
ings of her heroes and heroines, and made their minds 
susceptible to superstitious terror. 

From Beaujeu the road had constantly ascended, conduct- 
ing the travellers into the higher regions of the air, where im- 
mense glaciers exhibited their frozen horrors, and eternal snow 
whitened the summits of the mountains. They often paused 
to contemplate these stupendous scenes, and, seated on some 
wild cliff, Avhere only the ilex or the larch could flourish, 
looked over dark forests of fir, and precipices where human 
foot had never Avandered, into the glen — so deep that the 
thunder of the torrent which was seen to foam along the bot- 
tom was scarcely heard to murmur. Over these crags rose 
others of stupendous height and fantastic shape ; some shoot- 
ing into cones ; others impending far over their base, in huge 
masses of granite, along whose broken ridges was often lodged 
a weight of snow, that, trembling even to the vibration of a 
sound, threatened to bear destruction in its course to the vale. 
Around on every side, far as the eye could penetrate, were 
seen only forms of grandeur — the long perspective of moun- 
tain tops, tinged with ethereal blue, or white with snow ; val- 
leys of ice, and forests of gloomy fir. * " * The deep 
silence of these solitudes was broken only at intervals by the 
scream of the vultures, seen cowering round some cliff below, 
or by the cry of the eagle sailing high in the air ; except when 
the travellers listened to the hollow thunder that sometimes 
muttered at their feet.' 

Lewis in " The Monk," and Maturin in " The Family of 
^ " The Mysteries of Udolpho," chap. iv. 



270 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION: 

Montorio," carried the principles of the Radcliffe school 
beyond the verge of absurdity. Their novels are wild 
melodramas, the product of distorted imaginations, in 
which endless horrors are mingled with gross violations 
of decency. " The Monk " and " The Family of Montorio " 
had a great reputation in their day, and in contemporary 
criticism we find their praises sung and their immortality 
predicted. But, while they illustrate, on the one hand, 
the temporary vogue an author may acquire by highly- 
wrought clap-trap, and flashy flights of imagination, they 
show very plainly, in the oblivion which, has overtaken 
them, how little such characteristics avail in the race for 
enduring fame. 

V. 

At the end of the eighteenth century, the novel had 
become established as a popular form of literature, and 
the number of its votaries had begun to assume the pro- 
portions which have since made novelists by far the most 
numerous literary body. Some writers, perhaps, have 
been omitted who deserved mention as much as some 
who have been commented upon. But all have been 
spoken of, it is believed, who contributed any new ideas 
or methods to the art of fictitious composition. 

The novel had, indeed, taken the place of the stage to 
a very great extent. If we compare the productions of 
the dramatist with those of the novelist, as regards both 
quantity and merit, during the last hundred and fifty 
years, we shall perceive a great preponderance in favor of 
the writer of fiction. Although there are some respects 
in which the novel cannot compete with the drama, there 
are obvious reasons why the former should be much 
better adapted than the latter to modern requirements. 



POSITIOX OF THE XOVEL. 2/1 

Great changes have come over the audience. With the 
progress of civilization, life has become less and less i 
dramatic, and affords fewer striking scenes and violent | 
ebullitions of passion. It not only furnishes far less 
material for stage effects, but also supplies little of that 
sympathy which the dramatist must find in the minds of 
his audience. While life has become less dramatic, it . 
has become far more complex, and requires a broader 
treatment in its delineation than the restrictions of the 
stage can allow. 

As we look back upon the fiction of the eighteenth 
century, it is evident that the novel, like the play, is 
capable of great uses and of great abuses, according to 
the spirit in which it is written. In the hands of Defoe, i 
Richardson, Fielding, Goldsmith, and Miss Burney, it 
reached a high position as a work of art. It retained, 
indeed, much of the manner of the story of adventure, 
inasmuch as the interest was more commonly made to 
depend on the fortunes of a chosen hero than on the 
development of a well-constructed plot. But " Robinson 
Crusoe," " Tom Jones," " The Vicar of Wakefield," and 
" Evelina," are works which deserve and possess the 
interest of the present time. Such books as these are to 
be cherished as precious legacies from the years that 
have gone before. They have given, in the course of 
their long active circulation, an incalculable amount of I 
pleasure. They have supplied posterity with a pictur- < 
esque view of the life and manners of their ancestors 
which could not be acquired from any other source. But 
while the fiction of the eighteenth century includes much 
that is valuable from a literary and from a historical 
point of view, it includes also a great quantity of worth- \ 
less and injurious writing. By far the larger number of 



/ 



272 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

novels published were of a kind likely to exert an evil 
influence on their readers. Their coarseness and licen- 
tiousness had a strong tendency to disseminate the mor- 
bid thoughts and unregulated passions which dictated 
their production. So general was the feeling that a 
work of fiction would probably contain immoral and de- 
basing views of life, that the novel and the novelist were 
both looked upon askance. " In the republic of letters," 
said Miss Burney, " there is no member of such inferior 
rank, or who is so much disdained by his brethren of the 
quill, as the humble novelist ; nor is his fate less hard in 
the world at large, since, among the whole class of 
writers, perhaps not one can be named of which the 
votaries are more numerous but less respectable." Miss 
Edgeworth, in the beginning of the present century, felt 
it necessary to call her first novel " a moral tale," be- 
cause so much folly, error, and vice are disseminated in 
books classed " under the denomination of novels." A 
great part of the fiction of the last century, as indeed of 
our own time, possesses neither the value of a work of 
art nor that belonging to the description and preserva- 
tion of contemporary manners. Nor could the excuse 
of the amusement they afforded be called up in their 
favor. No amusement is worth having which is not 
healthy and innocent. The general prejudice which 
formerly existed against novels very much lessened their 
circulation, and lessened the evil done by licentious pro- 
ductions. Careful parents did not allow a novel in their 
children's hands which had not passed an examination — 
a precaution now too generally neglected. 

But notwithstanding all the trash, and worse than 
trash, which has gone into circulation under the broad 
and attractive term of novel, it is evident that the Eng- 



POSITION OF THE NOVEL. 273 

lish Speaking public on both sides of the Atlantic demand 
purity in the works of fiction which are submitted to its 
judgment. While no literary work can present a greater 
claim to permanent favor than a really good novel, none 
is more certain to be quite ephemeral than a bad one, — 
whether its badness consist in the manner or the matter. 
For more than a hundred years "The Vicar o, Wakefield" I 
has held its own, while hundreds of novels which created 
more sensation at the time of their appearance have fallen 
into everlasting oblivion. And this triumph is not only 
due to literary excellence, but to the human excellence 
of the conception which Goldsmith gave to the world. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

I, — THE NOVEL IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. II. — 
THE NOVEL OF LIFE AND MANNERS. III. — OF SCOTCH 
LIFE. IV. — OF IRISH LIFE. V. — OF ENGLISH LIFE. 
VI. — OF AMERICAN LIFE. VII. — THE HISTORICAL 
NOVEL. VIII. — THE NOVEL OF PURPOSE. IX.^ — THE 
NOVEL OF FANCY. X. — USE AND ABUSE OF FICTION. 



FICTION has absorbed so much of the literary talent 
of the present century, and has attained so impor. 
tant a place in the lives and thoughts of the reading pub- 
lic, that, in this chapter, we will attempt a description of 
its varied forms, and an inquiry into its uses and abuses, 
rather than an extended criticism of individual writers, 
AUibone's " Dictionary of Authors " contains two thou- 
sand two hundred and fifty-seven names of writers of 
fiction, by far the greater number of which belong to the 
nineteenth century, and every year adds to the list. 

There is no better example of the closeness of the 
connection between society and its literature than is 
supplied by the novel. Every change in the public taste 
has been followed by a corresponding variety of fiction, 
until it is difficult to enumerate all the schools into 
which novelists have divided themselves. During the 
present century, life has become far more complex and 
the reading public far more exacting, varied, and ex- 

274 



THE NOVEL IN THE XIXTH CENTURY. 275 

tended than ever before. Steam and electricity have 
brought distant countries into close communion, and 
have awakened a feeling of fellowship among the differ- 
ent nations of the civilized world which has greatly 
widened the horizon of human interests. The spread of 
education, the increase and distribution of wealth, to- 
gether with the cheapness of printing, have largely 
increased the number and variety of those who seek 
entertainment from works of fiction. The novel-reader 
is no longer content with the description of scenes and 
characters among which his own life is passed. He 
wishes to be introduced to foreign countries, to past 
ages, and to societies and ranks apart from his own. He 
wishes also to find in fiction the reflection of his own 
tastes and the discussion of his own interests. He seeks 
psychology, or study of character, or the excitement of a 
complicated plot, or the details and events of sea-faring, 
criminal, or fashionable life. All of these different tastes 
the novelist has undertaken to gratify. 

Under the extensive head of the novel of life and 
manners, the habits, modes of thought, and peculiarities 
of language of Scotland, Ireland, England, and the 
United States, with many sub-divisions of provinces and 
cities, have been studied and described. The novelist has 
extended his investigations into Eastern countries, and 
has portrayed the customs and institutions of Oriental 
life. He has taken his characters from historic times, 
and has reconstructed the past for the instruction or 
amusement of the present. The experiences of the sol- 
dier and the sailor have taken their place among the in- 
cidents of fiction ; the adventures and crimes of black- 
legs and convicts have been drawn upon to gratify palates 
sated with the weak pab'diim of the fashionable novel. 



2/6 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION: 

Fiction has not been confined to the study of manners 
and character, but has been extensively used to propagate 
opinions and to argue causes. Novels have been written 
in support of religious views, Catholic, High-Church, 
and Low-Church ; political novels have supported the in- 
terests of Tory, Whig, anti-slavery, and civil service , 
philosophical novels have exposed the evils of society 
as at present constituted, and have built up impossible 
Utopias. Besides the novel of purpose, there has been 
the novel of fancy, in which the imagination has been 
allowed to soar unchecked in the regions of the unreal 
and the supernatural. 

With so great a variety of works of fiction, it is not 
surprising to find a corresponding variety of authorship. 
Lords and ladies, generals and colonels have entered the 
lists against police-couit reporters and female adventurers. 
The novel is no longer the exclusive work of a profes- 
sional author. Amateurs have attempted it to pass the 
time which hung heavily on their hands; to put into 
form their dreams or experiences ; to gratify a mere 
literary vanity. The needy nobleman has made profit- 
able use of his name on the title-page of a novel purport- 
ing to give information concerning fashionable life. But 
the most remarkable characteristic of novel-writing has 
been the important part taken by women. They have 
adopted fiction as their special department of literature, 
and have shown their capacity for it by the production 
of novels which fully equal in number and almost equal in 
merit the works of their masculine rivals. On her own 
ground, George Eliot has no superior, while the writings of 
Miss Austen, of Miss Edgeworth, of Miss Ferrier, of Mrs. 
Stowe, not to mention many others, are to be ranked 
among the best works of fiction in any language. But 



THE NOVEL IX THE XIX TH CEXTURY. 2// 

while women have contributed their full share of novels, 
both as regards quantity and merit, they have also contrib- 
uted much more than what we think their full share of 
worthless and immoral writing. Bad women will have 
literary capacity as well as bad men, but it is doubly shock- 
ing to find that the prurient thoughts, the indecent allu- 
sions, and immoral opinions which are often met with in 
the novels of the day proceed from that sex which ought 
to be the stronghold of modesty and virtue. 

And this matter becomes very important when we 
consider the position which works of fiction have attained 
in the present century. In the days of Mrs. Behn, Mrs. 
Heywood, Fielding, or. Smollett, coarseness of thought 
and language was so general that it naturally had a 
prominent place in novels. All persons who objected to 
licentious scenes and gross expressions in the reading of 
themselves or their children excluded works of fiction. 
As Miss Edgeworth said, most novels were filled with 
vice or folly, and as Miss Burney complained, no body of 
literary men were so numerous, or so little respectable as 
novelists. | But, in the hands of such writers as Sir Walter 
Scott, as Miss Ferrier, as Miss Austen, as Dickens, as 
Thackeray, as Charles Kingsley, as Mr. Anthony Trol- 
lope, the novel has achieved for itself a position of respecta- 
bility and dignity which seems to remain unimpaired,' 
notwithstanding the efforts of many authors to destroy it. 
Works of fiction are to be found in every home, in the 
hands of parents, in the hands of young boys and girls. 
The word novel has been given so high a signification by 
the great names which are associated with it, that parent- 
al censorship has almost ceased. It is impossible that a 
form of literature to which so many and so great minds 
have been devoted, and which takes so prominent a place 



2/8 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION, 

in the favor of the reading public, should not be without 
a powerful influence. Let us look more closely at the 
works of fiction of the nineteenth century, and then en- 
deavor to determine how far their influence has been for 
good, and how far for evil. 

n. 

It is the especial province of the novel of life and 
manners to be as far as possible a truthful reflection of 
nature. And the more it approaches to this condition, 
the more realistic it is said to be. But the word realism 
is a vague term, and is constantly employed to express 
different ideas. As far as it applies to the novel, it usu- 
ally signifies an author's fidelity to nature. But even 
with this definition, the term realism has no very definite 
meaning, unless all persons agree as to what constitutes 
nature. There is a great difference in men according as 
they are looked at with the eye of a Raphael or of a 
Rembrandt. I There has been a strong tendency among 
novelists of the present century who have written since 
Scott, to devote themselves more to the common char- 
acters and incidents of every-day life ; to describe the 
world as it appears to the ordinary observer, who rarely 
associates with either heroes or villains, and has little 
experience of either the sublime or the marvellous.^ Such 
was the expressed object of Thackeray, and such is the 
general character of the works of George Eliot and of 
Mr. Anthony Trollope. This tendency has been carried 
to an extreme by some English novelists, and above all 
by the Frenchman, Emile Zola, who have not only thrown 
aside entirely the romantic element in their fictions, but 
have shown their ideas of realism to consist in the base 
and the ignoble, and have confined their studies to the 
vices and degradation of tiie human species. 



REALISM. 279 

An admirer of Thackeray and an admirer of Zola 
would each consider the works of his favorite author 
to be realistic, and yet nature appears under very differ- 
ent aspects in the pages of the two novelists. But the 
partisans of Thackeray and those of Zola would probably 
unite in the opinion that Sir Walter Scott was not realis- 
tic ; they would call him romantic, and claim that he 
painted ideal scenes and ideal characters. But among 
those who read and re-read the novels of Scott, by far 
the greater number believe that "The Wizard of the 
North " was true to nature, that Jeanie Deans and Rob 
Roy and Meg Merrilies were not impossible characters. 
There are many who enter into the scenes described by 
Scott with as much feeling of reality as is experienced 
by those who follow the career of a Pendennis, of a Duke 
of Omnium, or of a Nana. A novelist, then, is realistic 
or not realistic according to the views which he and his 
reader entertain of nature. To the optimist, to the 
youthful and romantic, " The Heart of Midlothian" and 
"Guy Mannering" will seem a truthful representation of 
life. The more worldly and practical will find their idea 
of reality in "The Mill on the Floss," in "Vanity Fair," 
in " The Prime Minister." And finally those whose 
taste or lot has kept them "raking in the dirt of man- 
kind" will think their view of truth best expressed by 
" L' Assommoir " or " Nana." 

But we would not be understood to mean that a novel- 
ist or a painter is realistic, because he represents nature 
as it appears to him, whether he look at it through a 
glass couleur de rose, or with the distorted eye of a cynic. 
He may describe the sublime, the ordinary, or the vile, as 
nature supplies examples of all three, and yet be realistic, 
so long as he presents any one of these conditions with- 



28o HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION: 

out exaggeration, and without too extended an applica- 
tion. 

The writers who have devoted themselves to the novel 
of life and manners have all sought to be realistic, and the 
value of their work largely depends on the success which 
has attended their efforts in this direction. The enduring 
vitality of " Tom Jones" is due to Fielding's fidelity to 
nature, and it is safe to predict that no novel which fails 
in this respect can have more than an ephemeral repu- 
tation. Nothing could be more false than the views of 
contemporary life contained in a large part of the fiction 
of the present day, and the future historian who looks 
to the novel of the nineteenth century for information 
concerning morals and social habits will have to exercise 
a constant discrimination. 

III. 

Scottish life and manners have been made familiar to 
the world by a series of brilliant novelists, first among 
whom stands the greatest figure in the history of English 
fiction. Sir Walter Scott was qualified to an extraordi- 
nary degree for the great work he was destined to per- 
form for his country and for the novel. His ancestry, the 
traditions among which he grew up, his in-born love of 
legendary lore, his vivid imagination and keenness of 
sympathy all fitted him to appreciate and to put into 
enduring form the latent romance which pervaded his 
beloved Scotland. His practical experience as a lawyer 
and as a sheriff, gave him a clear insight into the institu- 
tions of his country. Previous to the publication of 
" Waverley/' Scotland was a comparatively unknown land. 
Even Englishmen had little knowledge of its national 
habits, of its traditions, or its scenery. To Scotchmen, 



THE NOVEL OF SCOTTISH LIFE. 28 1 

the history of their country was little more than a skele- 
ton, till the magic wand ot Scott filled it in with flesh and 
blood, and gave it new life and animation. " Up to the 
era of Sir Walter," says an eminent Scotchman, "living 
people had some vague, general, indistinct notions about 
dead people mouldering away to nothing, centuries ago, in 
regular kirk-yards and chance burial-places, ' mang muirs 
and mosses many O,' somewhere or other in that diffi- 
cultly distinguished and very debatable district called the 
Borders. All at once he touched their tombs with a 
divining-rod, and the turf streamed out ghosts, some in 
woodmen's dresses, most in warriors' mail ; queer archers 
leapt forth, with yew bows and quivers, and giants stalked 
shaking spears ! The gray chronicler smiled, and taking 
up his pen, wrote in lines of light the annals of the chiv- 
alrous and heroic days of auld feudal Scotland. The 
nation then, for the first time, knew the character of its 
ancestors ; for these were not spectres- — not they, indeed, 
— nor phantoms of the brain, but gaunt flesh and blood, 
or glad and glorious ; — base-born cottage churls of the 
olden time, because Scottish, became familiar to the love 
of the nation's heart, and so to its pride did the high born 
lineage of palace kings. * * * "We know now the 
character of our own people as it showed itself in war and 
peace — in palace, castle, hall, hut, hovel, and shieling — 
through centuries of advancing civilization." 

And it was not only to his countrymen that Scott made 
vivid and familiar the history of his native land. Since 
his genius described the Highland fastnesses, and peopled 
them with the chiefs and maidens of old, all the world 
feels at home in that land at once so small and so great. 
In Italy, in France in Germany, in America, Jeanie Deans 
and the Master of Ravenswood are household friends, 



282 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

and Scottish life and habits are known to tens of thou- 
sands who never leave their native town. 

Besides making his country celebrated by his writings, 
Scott placed the novel on the firm foundation in public 
estimation which it has since retained. He redeemed 
its character from the disrepute into which it had fallen. 
He used it not only as a means of giving acute and 
healthful pleasure, but he made it the medium for moral 
and intellectual advancement. The purity of thought 
which pervades all his writings, the never-failing nobility 
of the views of life which he placed before his readers 
can have no other than an elevating influence. 

Scott's literary success was due both to genius and to 
industry. Of his early precocity Mrs. Cockburn has left 
a remarkable instance.' " I last night supped in Mr. 
Walter Scott's. He has the most extraordinary genius 
of a boy I ever saw. He was reading a poem to his 
mother when I went in. I made him read on; it was 
the description of a shipwreck. His passion rose with 
the storm. He lifted his eyes and hands : ' There 's 
the mast gone ! ' says he. ' Crash it goes ! They will all 
perish ! ' After his agitation he turns to me : ' That is 
too melancholy,' says he, ' I had better read you some- 
thing more amusing.' I preferred a little chat, and asked 
his opinion of Milton and other books he was reading, 
which he gave me wonderfully. One of his observations 
was: ' How strange it is that Adam, just new come into 
the world, should know every thing! That must be the 
poet's fancy,' says he. But when told he was created 
perfect by God, he instantly yielded. When taken to 
bed last night, he told his aunt he liked that lady. 

'Mrs. Cockbum to Rev. Dr. Douglas, 1777; Lockhart's "Life of 
Scott." 



THE NOVEL OF SCOTTISH LIFE. 283 

'What lady? ' says she. ' Why, Mrs. Cockburn, for I think 
she is a virtuoso, — like myself.' ' Dear Walter,' says 
Aunt Jenny, 'what is a virtuoso? * Don't ye know? 
Why, it 's one who wishes and will know every thing.' 
Now, sir, you will think this a ver^'- silly story. Pray, 
what age do you suppose this boy to be? Name it, now, 
before I tell you. ' Why, twelve or fourteen.' No such 
thing; he is not quite six years old. He has a lame 
leg, for which he was a year at Bath, and has acquired 
the perfect English accent, which he has not lost since 
he came, and he reads like a Garrick. You will allow 
this an uncommon exotic." 

The vivid imagination and love of knowledge which 
Scott displayed from his earliest years were supplemented 
throughout his life by an assiduous self-cultivation. The 
great and varied body of legendary lore which he accumu- 
lated, together with his ever active and universal sympa- 
thy with mankind, made the chief elements in his fictions. 
There is no one respect in which the Waverley novels are 
pre-eminent. As regards plot, Scott has been frequently 
surpassed. While " Kenilworth," the " Bride of Lam- 
mermoor," and " Ivanhoe," are well constructed, the plan 
of " Rob Roy " and " The Monastery " are lacking in 
sequence. Other novelists, too, have drawn character 
with quite as much power. But the Waverley novels 
have attained their supreme position in public estima- 
tion by a rare and well-balanced union of different quali- 
ties. They contain beautiful examples of the sublime, 
and amusing examples of the ludicrous. They reflect 
nature in various phases, and always with picturesque- 
ness, power, and truth. Of Scott's historical novels we 
shall speak elsewhere. Of those which relate especially 
to his own country, the most remarkable merit consists 



284 HIS TOR Y OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

in the fidelity with which they have reflected the Scotch 
nationality. On this account they will always possess a 
value for the student of social history. 

Of the estimation in which these novels have been 
held by the world, and the immense area over which 
their influence has extended, some idea may be formed 
from the fact that the actual profits which accrued from 
them to the author or to his estate shortly after his 
death, exceeded two millions of dollars. When we add 
to this sum the profits of the publishers, and when we 
consider the number of translations issued in Europe and 
the editions printed since Scott's death in Great Britain 
and America, we can realize how vast a sum the world 
has been glad to pay for the possession of these invalua- 
ble works. 

Following the great Sir Walter in the description of 
Scottish life and manners, are many well-known writers. 
John Gait, in the " Annals of the Parish," gave many 
humorous descriptions of national character. Tn Wilson's 
" Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life," in " The Ettrick 
Shepherd," in the works of Scott's son-in-law, Lockhart, 
are scenes and characters still very familiar to novel 
readers. Jane Porter embodied rather ideal views of 
history in "Thaddcusof Warsaw," and "The Scottish 
Chiefs." The talents of Miss Ferrier, of Mrs. Oliphant, 
and of Mr. William Black have kept up the interest which 
the world has learned to take in every thing appertain- 
ing to the land which Sir Walter Scott taught it to know 
and love ;jo well.' 

' Other novelists belonging especially to Scotland, and of considerable 
reputation, are Maria Porter, Elizabeth Hamilton, A. Cunningham, Mrs. 
Johnstone, Hogg, Picken, Moir, Sir T. D. Lauder, Hugh Mifler, George 
MnoDonald. 



THE NOVEL OF IRISH LIFE. 285 

IV. 

First among the contributors to the novel of Irish life 
and manners may be mentioned Maria Edgeworth, by 
whose successful labors Scott was iirst inspired to under- 
take his own. In Miss Edgeworth'c works, Ireland found 
a true exposition of her wrongs and her virtues ; and also 
of her follies and errors. The evils of absenteeism were 
powerfully illustrated in the novel of the same iiame. In 
" Castle Rackrent, ' the trials and difficulties of .-andlord 
and tenant were described with genuine sympathy and 
dramatic force. The peculiarities of Irish temper and 
character have been studied by Miss 5ilcgeworth with a 
fidelity which has givep. her novek- ihe same national 
stamp and value ivhich belong t(j ihosc of Scott. Like 
him, too, she did much to raise iiction in character, -scope, 
and influence. Whether describing Irish. English, or 
fashionable life, rJie is always true to nature, always pure 
and elevated in tone. Her works are neither marred by 
the coarseness of the past, nor by the false delicacy of 
the present. She studiously avoids error and exaggera- 
tion in every form. Sentimentality and mock heroism 
have no place in her pages. While she is wanting in 
poetry, she is singularly rich in the scenes and characters 
of every-day life, and her novels are marked by a com- 
mon-sense knowledge of the world which never degen- 
erates into commonplace. 

Miss Edgeworth has been ably followed by several stu- 
dents of Irish life. William Carleton's " Traits and 
Stories of the Irish Peasantry," the novels of Samuel 
Lover and of John Banim are still well known. Thomas 
Crofton Croker, with whose amusing description of the 
" Last of the Irish Sarpints," the reader is probably 
familiar, has studied his countrymen's superstitions and 



286 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

peculiarities with great success. Charles James Lever 
has long retained a well-deserved popularity by the pro- 
duction of about thirty jovial dashing novels, among 
which the most celebrated is " Charles O'Mailey, the 
Irish Dragoon." ' 



Novels relating particularly to English life and man- 
ners have been greater in number and more varied in 
character than those of any other country. A large vol- 
ume would be necessary to do any critical justice to the 
many distinguished writers whom we can only briefly 
notice here. The most considerable subdivision of the 
English novel has been that occupied with the study of 
domestic life, — a department for which women are par- 
ticularly fitted, and in which they have been eminently 
successful. 

Mrs. Opie's "Simple Tales," "Tales of Real Life," 
and " Tales of the Heart," although displaying no great 
talent in construction or style, excel in a natural pathos 
and a delicacy of sentiment which have made them pop- 
ular for many years. Miss Edgeworth brought to the 
study of English life the same practical views and literary 
talents which we have seen in her Irish novels. Her 
children's stories, " Frank," " Harry and Lucy," and 
" Rosamund " were among the first contributions to juve- 
nile fiction. " Helen," in which she exposed the evils of 
untruthfulness, is a good example of the success with 
which this admirable woman could combine entertain- 
ment and moral elevation. Jane Austen's name has long 

' Among other novelists of Irish life and manners may be mentioned 
L-ady Morgan, Mrs. S. C. Hall, Gerald Griffin, T. C. Grattan, Justin 
MacCarthy, and others. 



THE NOVEL OF ENGLISH LIFE. 28/ 

been linked with that of Miss Edgeworth, as the two 
most powerful female novelists of the earlier part of the 
century. In " Pride and Prejudice," " Emma," " Mans- 
field Park," " Sense and Sensibility," she described the 
country gentry and middle classes of society. She de- 
pended neither on exciting scenes, nor on highly wrought 
effects of human passion for the interest of her stories, 
but studied every-day life and ordinary people with a 
sympathy and power of observation which imparted a 
deep interest to all her works. Miss Ferrier's novels, 
" Inheritance " and " Marriage," were greatly admired by 
Scott, and now, some sixty years later, are still widely 
read, and receive the honor of both cheap and expensive 
editions. Miss Ferrier's skill in the construction of a 
plot, her natural studies of character and the liveliness of 
her descriptions have kept her works popular, notwith- 
standing great changes in the public taste. Mrs. Trol- 
lope, the mother of a more celebrated son, contributed 
largely to the English domestic novel. The pathetic 
story of the lives of the Bronte sisters, supplied by Mrs. 
Gaskell, has deepened the interest excited by the early 
popularity of " Jane Eyre." Charlotte was the most 
talented of the family, and won a widespread admiration 
by her knowledge of life, her freshness, her vigor, and 
her innocent disregard of conventionality. Mrs. Gaskell 
described the life and trials of the manufacturing classes 
with great ability in *' Mary Barton " and other novels. 
Miss Yonge, author of the " Heir of Re^lclyffe," Mrs. 
Henry Wood, author of " East Lynne," and Mrs. Lynn 
Linton have added largely to this department of fiction. 
The Baroness Tautphoeus described English and Ger- 
man life in the particularly fascinating novels, " Quits," 
"At Odds," and "The Initials." Miss Thackeray has 



288 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

made good use of talents inherited from her father. 
Mary R. Mitford and Mrs. Alexander have written many 
entertaining and popular novels. Miss Mulock began 
a long list of successful works with " The Ogilvies " and 
" John Halifax." 

But by far the greatest female novelist who has de- 
voted her talents to the English domestic novel, and by 
far the greatest female wiriter in the language is undeni- 
ably George Eliot. "^Women almost invariably leave the 
stamp of their sex upon their work. But George Eliot 
took and held a man's position in literature from the 
outset of her career. It was not that she was unfeminine. 
She brought to her work a woman's sympathy and a 
woman's attention to detail. But in breadth of concep- 
tion, in comprehensiveness of thought her mind was es- 
sentially masculine. Her appreciation of varieties and 
shades of character was almost Shakespearian. She' could 
describe the self-indulgence of a Hetty Sorrel leading to 
cruelty, and that of a Tito leading to treachery, with per- 
fect distinctness. She could enter into the generous as- 
pirations of a Savonarola, and the selfish desires of a 
Grandcourt, with equal perspicuity. Her readers do not 
feel less familiar with the dull barrenness of Casaubon 
than with the pregnant vivacity of Mrs. Poyser. .'In the 
study of the inward workings of the human mind, George 
Eliot is unsurpassed by any novelist. Thackeray alone 
can dispute her pre-eminence in this respect. However 
much the reader may recoil from the horror of Little 
Hetty's crime, he cannot deny that it follows as a natural 
consequence. Although Dorothea's marriages are ex- 
tremely disappointing, the train of thought which led her 
to enter into them is traced with unerring clearness. 

An obstacle to the popularity of George Eliot's novels 



THE NOVEL OF ENGLISH LIFE. 289 

lies in the slowness of their movement. The author's 
soliloquies, comments, and reflections, which are so much 
valued by her especial admirers, constantly interrupt the 
course of the narrative, and prove cumbersome to such 
readers as enjoy a rapid, flowing story. But without 
these interruptions, how much of George Eliot's best 
wisdom would be lost I How many significant phrases 
would be taken from familiar language ! The comment- 
aries of the authoress herself on the incidents of her 
tale give her works a value which inclines us to take up 
her volumes again and again, long after the stories them- 
selves have become familiar. We never weary of such 
sentences as the following from "Adam Bede " : " There 
is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the 
first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have 
not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, 
to have despaired and to have recovered hope." Not less 
beautiful and concentrated are those few words on wo- 
man's love in " Middlemarch " : — " Those childlike cares- 
ses which are the bent of every sweet woman, who has 
begun by showering kisses on the hard pate of her bald 
doll, creating a happy soul within that woodenness from 
the wealth of her own love." 

A faculty which George Eliot possessed in common 
with Dickens and Thackeray was that of making very or- 
dinary people interesting. And this is a talent character- 
istic of the best minds which have contributed to fiction 
or the drama. Shakespeare possessed it in a'high degree, 
and the best creations of Scott are ordinary, unheroic 
persons. The fadulty arises from superior powers of ob- 
servation. Some people will take a walk through a pict- 
uresque country or a crowded city without having seen 
any thing worthy of remark. Others will pass over the 



290 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

same ground, and return overflowing with description. 
In the same manner, the great number of men and wom- 
en pass through Hfe finding every thing commonplace, 
and the observing sympathy of a Thackeray, a Miss 
Austen, or a George EHot is necessary to hght up the 
unnoticed figures which throng the path. George EHot 
is particularly happy in drawing a really ordinary per- 
son, especially when a little pretension is added. She 
must have written Mr. Brooke's opinion of women with 
true enjoyment : " There is a lightness about the femi- 
nine mind — a touch and go — music, the fine arts, that 
kind of thing — they should study those up to a certain 
point, women should ; but in a light way, you know." 
But though Mrs. Poyser be humble, she is far from ordi- 
nary. " Some folks' tongues," she says, " are like the 
clocks as run on strikin', not to tell you the time o' the 
day, but because there 's summat wrong i' their own 
inside. 

So long as George Eliot confined herself to her own 
sphere of action, she exhibited the same remarkable 
powers. But even her great name could not command 
admiration for " The Spanish Gypsy." Her limitations 
clearly appeared in " Daniel Deronda." When describ- 
ing the characters and intercourse of Grandcourt and 
Gwendolen, when dealing with every thing English in 
that variously estimated work, she remained the great 
author of " Adam Bede " and "Silas Marner." But in 
undertaking the discussion of the religion and social 
position of the Jews, she mistook her own talents, and 
created in Daniel Deronda, an indefinite combination of 
virtues unworthy of her genius. 

We have now noticed fifteen women, from Maria 
Edgeworth and Jane Austen to George Eliot, who have 



THE NOVEL OF ENGLISH LIFE. 2gi 

contributed to the single department of fiction concerned 
with English domestic life. Many other names almost 
equally deserving and equally celebrated might be added 
to the list. The enduring popularity of their works is 
sufificient commentary on the success with which woman's 
talent has been directed toward fiction. Not only have 
the productions of these writers a high literary value, 
but their widespread circulation has afforded a really 
healthful amusement to tens of thousands, and their in- 
fluence has been uniformly for good. ' 

The novels of English domestic life written by men 
have been little more numerous or able, but much more 
extended in scope. " Tremaine " and " De Vere," of R. 
riumer Ward, contain clever sketches of character, but 
the narrative is loaded down with political and philo- 
sophical disquisitions. Theodore Hook's stories were as 
unequal as his life. Almost all bear the marks of haste 
and carelessness, and yet very few are without some 
portion of that pointed wit and delicate humor which 
delineated Jack Brag, or described Mr. Abberley's dinner 
party in the " Man of Many Friends." Richard Harris 
Barham is well known as the author of the witty " In- 
goldsby Legends," and Samuel Warren as the author of 
" Ten Thousand a Year." Charles Kingsley described 
the life and grievances of mechanics in "Alton Locke." 
Charles Reade began a long series of popular novels with 
" Peg Wofifington " and " Christie Johnstone." His best 
work is " Never Too Late to Mend," in which he criticized 

' Other women who have contributed to the English domestic novel : — 
Mary R. Mitford, Mrs. Crowe, Mrs. Marsh, Lady Georgiana Fullerton, 
Miss Kavanagh, Geraldine Jewsbury, Mrs. Alexander, S. Biinbury, C. Sin- 
clair, A. Strickland, M. C. Clarke, L. S. Costello. C. Crowe, A. H. Drury, 
S. Ellis, M. Howitt, Mrs. liubback, Hon. Mrs. Norton, M. A. Power, e'. 
Sevvell, Mrs. Macquoid, Hesba Stretton, Florence Marryat, Elizabeth 
Wetherell, Sarah Tytler, C. C. Eraser- Tytler, G. Craik, Hon. Mrs. Chet- 
wind, M. 1\I. Grant, A. E. Bray, and others. 



?92 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

prison discipline, and described the striking scenes of the 
Australian gold-fields. Few novels of the present day- 
contain a more interesting story or more lifelike delinea- 
tions of character. Wilkie Collins' greatest power lies in 
the construction of his plot ; the " Moonstone" and the 
" Woman in White," are among the most absorbing nar- 
ratives in the whole range of fiction. His studies of the 
morbid workings of the mind are often striking, but with 
the exception of Count Fosco and a few others, his 
characters are not strongly marked. Thomas Hughes 
accomplished a truly noble work in the composition of 
" Tom Brown's School Days " and " Tom Brown at Ox- 
ford," — books which have found their way to every boy's 
heart, and have appealed to all that was most healthful 
and manly there. The novels of Benjamin d'Israeli are 
chiefly interesting in their relation to the character of 
their illustrious author. As works of art they are 
faulty in construction, exaggerated in description, and 
unnatural in effect. " Vivian Grey" and " Lothair" can- 
not pretend to be truthful studies of English life, nor 
would their author, probably, have represented them as 
such. But so much of the great statesman's power was 
instilled into his novels that they have a certain interest 
even for those who are most alive to their faults. They 
are the conceptions of a very rich imagination, and con- 
tain many pictures which, if untrue to nature, are still 
extremely vivid. D'Israeli's chief literary, and perhaps 
also his chief political characteristic, was a constant en- 
deavor to make striking effects. The reader may be sure 
to find nothing commonplace in his writings. Every 
scene and every character is painted in the brightest of 
colors. If the background be sombre, it will simply 
throw out more brilliantly the figures in the foreground. 



THE NOVEL OF ENGLISH LIFE. 293 

It Is said that most men have a favorite word. That of 
d'Israeli was " wondrous." He took his reader into 
wondrous baronial halls, filled with wondrous gems, with 
wondrous tapestries, with wondrous paintings, and intro- 
duced him to wondrous dukes and duchesses, looking out 
from wondrous dark orbs, and breathing through almond- 
shaped nostrils. He loved to bring the royal family on 
the scene, and to trace the awe-inspiring effect of their au- 
gust presence. When we open a novel of d'Israeli's we 
are certain of moving in a brilliant society, although one 
belonging* to a yet undiscovered world. Women whose 
political influence changes the map of Europe, irresistible 
Catholic priests are mingled with impudent adventurers 
and professional toad-eaters. And over every thing is 
cast, by d'Israeli's Eastern imagination, a glamour of 
unlimited wealth, of numberless coronets, and of soaring 
ambitions. The political career of the Earl of Beacons- 
field is one of the most remarkable in history, and even 
his opponents cannot withhold admiration from the great 
abilities and undaunted resolution which brought that 
career to its triumphant close. But the novels of the 
Earl of Beaconsfield have little value beyond their reflec- 
tion of his dreams and his ambition. 

Among the most famous writers of fiction of the nine- 
teenth century will always be mentioned the name of Sir 
Bulwer Lytton. More than any other writer, he studied 
and developed the novel as a form of literature. Almost 
every novelist has taken some special field and has con- 
fined himself to that. Dickens, George Eliot, Thackeray 
made occasional incursions on historic ground, but still 
their chief work was expended upon the novel of life and 
manners. Lytton attempted, and successfully, every de- 
partment of fiction. In "Zanoni," he gave to the world 



294 NISTOKY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

a novel of fancy ; in " Pelham " and " The Disowned," 
fashionable novels: in " Paul Clifford," a criminal novel ; 
in " Rienzi," " Harold," " The Last of the Barons," his- 
torical novels; in "What Will He Do With It?" a novel 
of familiar life. And he brought to each variety of fic- 
tion the same artistic sense, the same knowledge of the 
world, and keen observation. To describe English life in 
all its phases, he was particularly fitted. Born in a high 
rank, he was perfectly at home in his descriptions of the 
upper classes, and never slow in exposing their vices. His 
studies of men took so universal a form that he became 
familiar even with the slang terms of pickpockets and 
house-breakers. " What Will He Do With It ? " combines 
examples of the heroic, the humorous, the pathetic, and 
the villainous, and affords, perhaps, the best general view 
of the author's varied talents. Sir Bulwer Lytton is one 
of the most voluminous writers of a very prolific class, 
and yet he has never repeated himself. Mr. Anthony 
Trollope and several other novelists have shown how fal- 
lacious is the idea that the imagination is a fickle mis- 
tress to be courted and waited for. They have proved 
that she can be made to settle dov/n and accustomed by 
habit to working at stated hours and for regular periods. 
But Bulwer Lytton not only forced his imagination to 
continuous labor, but he was able to insure an unending 
novelty of conception. In each one of his novels we are 
introduced to an entirely new set of characters inhabit- 
ing quite unfamiliar scenes. 

With a few exceptions, Mr. Anthony Trollope has con- 
fined himself to the novel of English social life, but that 
mine he has worked with wonderful assiduity and success. 
In "The Warden," in " Barchester Towers," are studies 
of clerical character for which this writer has won a spe- 



THE NOVEL OF ENGLISH LIFE. 295 

cial reputation. " The Small House at AlHngton " is a 
love story of particular fascination. Few writers have 
described the manifestations of love in the acts and 
thoughts of a modest, sweet girl as delicately as Mr. 
Trollope has done in the case of the deserted Lily. Her 
rejection of a second suitor is felt by the reader to be the 
inevitable consequence of so pure a passion, and the 
treachery of Crosbie is traced through its various grada- 
tions with true fidelity to nature. " Phineas Finn " is an 
excellent example of a parliamentary novel. That work 
and its companions, " Phineas Redux," "The Prime Min- 
ister," and " The Duke's Children," keep up our acquaint- 
ance with the family and connections of Plantagenet 
Palliser, Duke of Omnium, — than which few groups of 
fictitious characters are more continuously interesting. 
Mr. Trollope's novels will have a special value for the 
future student of English social life in the nineteenth 
century. The race-course, the hunting field, the country 
seat, Piccadilly, Hyde Park, the life of clubs and parlia- 
ment, are described by him with photographic minute- 
ness. And the novel-reader of to-day derives a constant 
pleasure from his books, notwithstanding the fact that 
the monotony of modern life is somewhat too closely 
reflected in them. 

The works of no writer in the English language, ex- 
cept those of Scott, have attained so immediate a reputa- 
tion and have won so wide-spread a popularity as the 
novels of Charles Dickens. " In less than six months 
from the appearance of the first number of the ' Pickwick 
Papers,'" said the London Quarterly Review in 1837, 
"the whole reading public were talking about them — the 
names of Winkle, Warden, Weller, Snodgrass, Dodson 
and Fogg, had become familiar in our mouths as house- 



296 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

hold terms ; and Mr. Dickens was the grand object of 
interest to the whole tribe of ' Leo-hunters/ male and 
female, of the metropolis. Nay, Pickwick chintzes fig- 
ured in linen-drapers' windows, and Weller corduroys in 
breeches-makers' advertisements ; Boz cabs might be 
seen rattling through the streets ; and the portrait of the 
author of ' Pelham ' or ' Crichton' was scraped down or 
pasted over to make room for that of the new popular 
favourite in the omnibuses." For forty years the writ- 
ings of this great novelist have held their place in the 
public esteem without any sensible diminution. Hun- 
dreds of thousands, old and young, in Great Britain, in 
America, in every country of Europe, have followed the 
fortunes of Nicholas Nickleby, of David Copperfield, of 
Oliver Twist, and of numberless other celebrated char- 
acters with unflagging interest. Perhaps Dickens' most 
remarkable achievement lay in the number of his crea- 
tions, and in the distinctness with which he could im- 
press them on the memory of his readers. Of the great 
host of figures who throng his scenes, how many we re- 
member! Their names remain stamped on our minds, 
and some of their characteristic phrases, like Micawber's 
"Something will turn up," or Tapley's " There 's some 
credit in being jolly here," have passed into current 
phrases. Dickens' great object was to celebrate the virt- 
ues of the humbler ranks of life, and to expose the acts 
of injustice or tyranny to which they are subjected. 
This he did in a spirit of the truest philanthropy and 
most universal benevolence. The helpless victims of 
oppression, like little Oliver Twist, or the inmates of 
Dotheboys Hall, found in him an effective champion. 
Never has hypocrisy, the besetting vice of this age, been 
so mercilessly exposed as in the works of Dickens. It is 



THE NOVEL OF ENGLISH LIFE. 2gj 

not only in such a character as Pecksniff that its ugh'ness 
is revealed, but wherever pretence hides guilt behind a 
sanctimonious countenance, the mask is surely torn off. 
Dickens hated hypocrisy as Thackeray hated snobbism. 
And both, in their zeal, occasionally saw the hypocrite or 
the snob where he did not exist. Dealing, as Dickens did, 
so exclusively with common and low-born characters, it 
is remarkable that his books so rarely leave any impres- 
sion of vulgarity behind them. And this result is due to 
the author's love of truth and detestation of all pretence. 
There can be no vulgarity without pretension. A great 
many novels of the day are extremely vulgar, because 
they describe ill-bred people and represent them to the 
reader as ladies and gentlemen. But Dickens' shop- 
keeper or street-sweeper makes no pretence to gentility, 
and therefore is as far from being vulgar as the man who 
has never known what it was to be any thing but a gen- 
tleman. The faults, like the merits, of Dickens' work 
resulted from the exuberance and power of his imagina- 
tion. The same vividness of conception which gives 
such life to his description of a thunderstorm or of a 
quiet family scene, sometimes betrayed him into exag- 
geration and caricature. And yet when we consider the 
number and variety of the figures conjured up by his 
creative mind, from Paul Dombey to the Jew, Fagin, it is 
extraordinary that to so few this criticism will apply. 

Dickens' vast popularity resulted only in part from the 
artistic merit of his works. The breadth of his canvas, 
his intense realization of fictitious scenes, and his extra- 
ordinary descriptive power are qualities enough to win 
for hiin his eminent position in fiction. But the affection 
felt for Dickens as a man, which has made him occupy so 
much the hearts as well as the minds of the reading pub- 



298 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

lie, was attracted by qualities apart from those which 
excited admiration for the author. Dickens was essen- 
tially a national writer in the variety of the characters 
with whom he brought his readers into communion. He 
was essentially popular, from the fact that he dealt with 
the masses and not with any particular class. He was 
essentially English, in that he was the apostle of home. 
No novelist who has treated domestic life has so thor- 
oughly caught its spirit, and has so sympathetically 
traced its joys and sorrows, its trials and recompenses. 
Family life has been for more than two centuries gradu- 
ally supplanting the life of the camp and the court. It 
is in the domestic circle that men now find the interest 
which was formerly sought in adventure or publicity. 
Not only in the Christmas stories, especially devoted to 
the celebration of home, but through all his great fictions 
Dickens made domestic life his chief study. And he is, 
above all others, the favorite household novelist. While 
he lived, each new work of his was welcomed alike by 
parent and child, and when he died, there were few 
homes where books ever came that the loss of a friend 
was not felt. 

Scott, Dickens, almost all the great English novelists 
described heroes and heroines. They made their chief 
character an embodiment of virtue or strength, and strove 
to win for him the admiration of the reader. Even Tom 
Jones was a hero to Fielding, and Roderick Random to 
Smollett. But Thackeray said to himself as he looked 
out on the world, that humanity was not made up of 
heroes and villains. He had never met with the truly 
heroic, nor with the utterly depraved. It seemed to him 
that human nature lay between the two extremes. In 
" Vanity Fair," in " Pendennis " and in "■ The New- 



THE NOVEL OF ENGLISH LIFE. 299 

comes " he resolved to describe man as he was, with virt- 
ues and faiHngs, with occasional glimpses of the noble, 
and more common exhibitions of the mean and the little. 
Young men were to appear in his pages with their weak- 
ness and selfishness; young girls with their silliness and 
affectation. Thackeray, in a word, was to be more real- 
istic than his predecessors in fiction had dared to be. He 
was to show his readers what they really were, and not 
what they would wish to be. 

But in Thackeray's novels is evident the difficulty of 
establishing any generally accepted standard of realism. 
If this quality consists in representing a character as V 
speaking and acting just as we should expect such a 
character to speak and act, Thackeray succeeded as per- 
haps no novelist, except Fielding, had done before him. 
Becky Sharp, Sir Pitt Crawley, Pendennis, Clive New- 
come, all use such words as the reader would expect from 
them. Their actions are the natural results of the trains 
of thought into which the author has given us an insight. 
When the old reprobate. Lord Steyne, discovers that 
Becky Sharp had appropriated to herself the money 
which he had given her to restore poor Miss Briggs' 
stolen property, he is not indignant at the deception. 
The admiration of the noble rogue is only increased for 
the woman who has shown herself to be possessed of a 
more astute roguery than his own : — 

"What an accomplished little devil it is ! " thought he. 
" What a splendid actress and manager ! She had almost got 
a second supply out of me the other day with her coaxing ways. 
She beats all the women I have ever seen in the course of all 
my well-spent life ! They are babies compared to her, I am 
a green-horn myself and a fool in her hands — an old fool. She 
is unsurpassable in lies." His lordship's admiration for Becky 



300 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

rose immeasurably at this proof of her cleverness. Getting the 
money was nothing — but getting double the sum she wanted 
and paying nobody — it was a magnificent stroke 

^ In his delineation of character, in the perfect natural- 

ness with which all his personages act out their respective 
parts, no novelist is more realistic than Thackeray. But 
realism has a broader application. A novelist who takes 
every-day life for his subject has not only to give the 
stamp of nature to all his scenes and individuals, but he 
must so write, that at the end of his book the reader will 
have the impression that real life, with its due apportion- 
ment of good and evil, of happiness and grief, has been 
placed before him. Some readers will receive that im- 
pression from Thackeray's novels ; but they will be those 
who think that the evil and the unhappiness predominate. 
So thought the author himself. But the world in gen- 
eral think differently, and agree to look upon Thackeray 
as a satirist. 

As such, he ranks in English literature second only tcr 
Swift. To the great Dean, man was a lump of deformity 
and disease. He saw in humanity little besides its vice, 
and painted his species in colors under which few men 
have been willing to recognize a portrait. Thackeray's 
genial disposition naturally made him far less bitter than 
Swift. He neither saw nor portrayed the monstrous vice 
which excited the hatred of the satirist of the eighteenth 
century. To Thackeray, men were weak rather than bad, 
selfish rather than vicious. George Osborne braves the 
consequences of marrying poor Amelia Sedley, and yet 
prefers his own pleasure to that of his wife. Rawdon 
Crawley is ignorant, rude, and unprincipled, but yet is 
loving and faithful to Rebecca. Weakness, pettiness, 
self-deception were the main objects of Thackeray's 



THE NOVEL OE ENGLISH LIFE. 30 1- 

satire. Where are the absurdities of youthful woman- 
worship held up to such derision as in Pendennis' love 
for Miss Costigan ! 

Pen tried to engage her in conversation about poetry and 
about her profession. He asked her what she thought about 
Ophelia's madness, and whether she was in love with Hamlet 
or not ? " In love with such a little ojus creature as that 
stunted manager of a Bingley ? " She bristled with indigna- 
tion at the thought. Pen explained that it was not of her he 
spoke, but of Ophelia of the play. " Oh, indeed, if no offense 
was meant none was taken : but as for Bingley, indeed, she did 
not value him — not that glass of punch." Pen next tried her 
on Kotzebue. " Kotzebue ? who was he ? " " The author of 
the play in which she had been performing so admirably." 
" She did not know that, the man's name at the beginning of 
the book was Thompson," she said. Pen laughed at her adora- 
ble simplicity. ..." How beautiful she is," thought 
Pen, cantering homewards. " How simple and how tender ! 
How charming it is to see a woman of her genius busying her- 
self with the humble affairs of domestic life, cooking dishes to 
make her old father comfortable, and brewing him drink ! How 
rude it was of me to begin to talk of professional matters, and 
how well she turned the conversation ! ... Pendennis, 
Pendennis, — how she spoke the word ! Emily ! Emily ! how 
good, how noble, how beautiful, how perfect she is ! " ' 

Thackeray s satire is all the more powerful m that it 
is directed against foibles more than against vices. 
Many a reader who will reject Swift's portrait of man as 
a libel, cannot but feel a twinge at Thackeray's delicate 
pencillings. After dwelling on the worldliness, the hy- 
potrisy, the self-seeking of the inmates of Queen's 
Crawley, how softly but how terribly he scourges them ! 

' " Pendennis," Chap. v. 



%/ 



302 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION'. 

" These honest folks at the Hall, whose simplicity and 
sweet rural purity surely show the advantage of a country 
life over a town one." His praise is the severest 
cut of all. " Dear Rebecca," " the dear creature," and 
we wince for Becky. " What a dignity it gives an old 
lady, that balance at the banker's ! How tenderly we 
look at her faults, if she be a relative." " These money 
transactions, these speculations in life and death — these 
silent battles for reversionary spoil — make brothers very 
loving toward each other in Vanity Fair." 

Thackeray is the novelist whose works depend in the 
least degree on narrative interest. The characters are 
so clearly drawn and so interesting, the manner of 
Thackeray's writing is so uniformly entertaining, that his 
books can always be opened at random and read with 
pleasure. " Henry Esmond " is the only novel in which 
the plot is carefully constructed. The others are a string 
of consecutive chapters, each one of which possesses ?ts 
individual interest.' 

The novel of English life and manners includes many 
subdivisions. Among the writings of Miss Edgeworth, 
Miss Ferrier, Bulwer Lytton, Mr. Anthony TroUope, and 
others, are novels which deal to a greater or less extent 
with fashionable life. A number of novelists, principally 
female, have confined their studies to the aristocratic 
classes.^ But the so-called fashionable novel is most often 

' Many other well-known writers have contributed to the English domes- 
tic novel : Thomas Love Peacock, H. Coke, Samuel Philips, Angus B. 
Reach, Albert Smith, R. Cobbold, Edmund Yates, Thomas A. Troliope, 
Thomas Hardy, James Payn, George Augustus Sala, William Thornbury, 
the author of "The Bachelor of the Albany," Mortimer Collins, G. H. 
Lewes, Shirley Brooks, Douglas Jerrold, G. Crowley, T. de Quincey, S. W. 
Fullom, J. Hannay, W. Howitt, C. Mackay, G. J. Whvte- Melville, T. 
Miller, L. Ritchie, F. E. Smedley, J. A. St. John, M. F. Tapper, E. M. 
Whitly, F. Williams, C. L. Wraxall, and others. 

^T. H. Lister, Marquis of Normanby, Lady Caroline Lamb, Countess of 
Morley, Lady Charlotte Bury, Lady Dacre, Mrs. Gore, Lady Blessington. 



• THE NOVEL OF ENGLISH LIFE. 303 

the composition of adventurers whose catch-penny pro- 
ductions aim at affording, to the middle or lower ranks, 
information concerning the habits of the aristocracy. It 
is hardly necessary to remind the reader that fashionable 
life in these novels is such as it might appear to an 
imaginative kitchen-maid whose idea of up-stairs exist- 
ence is founded on the gossip of servants. When written 
by persons conversant with their subject, the fashionable 
novel forms a legitimate subdivision of the novel of life 
and manners. But it is most often a noxious weed. Its 
cultivators constantly make up for lack of talent by the 
excitement of immoral scenes, and give to their audience 
of sempstresses and grooms ^a most degraded view of 
aristocratic life. Even when harmless in matter, its rank 
luxuriance fills up space much better occupied by the 
flowers of literature. 

The eminent criminal novel is taken as a tonic by 
minds satiated with the vapidity of fashionable fiction. 
From Lytton's " Paul Clifford," and Ainsworth's " Jack 
Sheppard," down to " Merciless Ben, the Hair-Lifter," 
criminal narrative has been occupied with endowing 
burglars and murderers with the graces of gentlemen and 
the moral worth of Christian missionaries. In its cele- 
bration of successful crime, and its representation under 
a heroic aspect of villains and blacklegs, no species of 
fiction is more false to nature or more injurious to youth- 
ful readers. ..__ 

To such writers as George A. Lawrence and " Ouida " 
the world is indebted for the " Muscular Novel," which 
combines all the worst elements of both fashionable and 
criminal narrative. In " Guy Livingstone," " Strath- 
more," and a hundred similar fictions, the reader is intro- 
duced to men of extraordinary physical development, 



304 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

whose strength is proof against the wildest dissipation ; 
to women of extaordinary beauty, whose charms are en- 
hanced in proportion to their coarseness and lack of 
modesty. Jack Sheppard, reposing on a velvet couch, 
smoking a perfumed cigarette, and worshipped by two or 
three ornaments of the demi-monde, is the type most ad- 
mired by the muscular novelist. • Lawrence and " Ouida " 
have brought to their work a literary power which has 
given them considerable notoriety, and has placed them 
at the head of their particular school ; — but it is a school 
whose distinctive characteristics consist in extravagance, 
unhealthiness of tone, and falseness to nature. 

English military life has been ably described by such 
writers as E. Napier, G. R. Gleig, W. H. Maxwell, and 
James Grant. But as a maritime nation, England has 
been much more prolific of naval novelists. At the head 
of these stands Captain Marryat, who has celebrated the 
pleasures and described the incidents of sea-faring life in 
about thirty jovial, dashing books. Among the great 
number of odd and entertaining characters sketched by 
his hand, " Peter Simple " and " Midshipman Easy " are 
perhaps the most interesting. Marryat's narratives are not 
carefully constructed, but flow on gracefully and easily, 
enlivened by an inexhaustible fund of humor, and en- 
riched by an endless succession of bright or exciting 
scenes. The names of Captain Glassock, Howard, Tre- 
lawney. Captain Chamier, Michael Scott, and the author 
of the "Wreck of the Grosvenor," are among those most 
prominently associated with the marine novel. These 
writers have not only dealt with the adventures of 
a sailor's life and the peculiarities of a sailor's character, 
but have studied the influence of the sea on the human 
mind. 



THE NOVEL OF AMERICAN LIFE. 305 

Through the great interest felt by Englishmen in the 
manners and customs of Eastern nations, Oriental novels 
have become a recognized department of English fiction. 
In the eighteenth century, Johnson, in " Rasselas," and 
Beckford, in " Vathek," had drawn on the romantic feat- 
ures of Eastern life. In the present century successful 
attempts have been made to study Oriental character 
through the medium of the realistic novel. Hope, in 
" Anastasius," described the vices and degradation of 
Turkey and Greece in the person of his hero. In James 
Morier's " Hajji Baba of Ispahan" and "Ayesha," are 
vivid delineations of Eastern character and highly humor- 
ous sketches of Persian life. James Baillie Eraser, in 
"The Kuzzilbash," and Miss Pardoe in a number of tales, 
have still further enriched the department of Oriental 
fiction. 

VI. 

James Fenimore Cooper said in regard to the materials 
for American fiction : " There is a familiarity of the sub- 
ject, a scarcity of events, and a poverty in the accompani- 
ments that drive an author from the undertaking in de. 
spair." But the truth of this statement has been greatly 
modified, if not quite refuted, by the work of that great 
novelist and of several others who have succeeded him. 
It is true that American life presents less salient charac- 
teristics than that of Europe ; that class distinctions are 
less marked ; and that the energies of the nation are still 
so much confined to strictly utilitarian objects, that life 
moves along with unpicturesque sameness and evenness. 
But mankind remains equally complicated and equally 
interesting under whatever circumstances it may be 
placed. The vast extent of American territory and the 



306 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION-. 

infinite variety of its inhabitants afford material to the 
novelist which yet remains almost untouched. New 
England, New York, the Southern States, and, above all, 
the Great West, are rich in special customs, traditions, 
and habits of thought with which fiction has only begun 
to concern itself. The visitor to Washington cannot fail 
to be struck by the variety of men who jostle each other 
in that cosmopolitan city. The New England farmer, 
the New York banker, the Southern planter, the Western 
herder or grain merchant, the California mine-owner, the 
negro, and perhaps a stray visiting Indian chief, represent 
widely difTering and highly interesting forms of life and 
opinion. Whenever native genius has cast aside foreign 
influence and has found inspiration in American traditions 
and institutions, the extent and richness of its literary 
material have been made manifest. 

The earliest examples of fiction in the United States 
were tentative and lacking in originality. At the close of 
the eighteenth century, Charles Brockden Brown began 
the career of the first American novelist with " Wieland." 
His pecuniary necessities and the slight encouragement 
offered at that time to American authors made it impos- 
sible for him to afford the time and care essential to 
artistic finish. His novels are of an imaginative and 
psychological character, often interesting in parts from 
the intense mental excitement which they describe. They 
were much admired by the English novelist Godwin, 
whose works they resemble in intensity of conception 
and faultiness of execution. A novel called " Charlotte 
Temple," by Susanna Rowson, obtained a wide circula- 
tion in the beginning of the present century, due much 
more to its foundation on a notorious scandal than to 
its own literary merit. " Modern Chivalry ; or the Ad- 



THE NOVEL OF AMERICAN LIFE. 307 

ventures of Captain Farrago and Teague O'Reagan, his 
Servant " — a poor imitation of " Don Quixote " — was a 
satire directed against the Democratic party by H. H. 
Brackenridge. R. H. Dana's " Tom Thornton " and 
" Paul Felton " have little claim to attention beyond the 
excitement of their rather sensational stories. 

But with the publication of" The Spy," Cooper opened 
a thoroughly national vein, and began a literary career 
which showed how little native genius need rely on for- 
eign influence or on foreign subjects. He described the 
stirring events and the moral heroism of the American 
Revolution with patriotic sympathy and original literary 
power. He touched the romantic chords of that great 
struggle with a delicacy which met with a world-wide re- 
sponse. Not only did Americans feel that in Cooper's 
novels the picturesque and characteristic features of their 
country were delineated by a master-hand, but in almost 
every European land, translations of " The Spy," " The 
Pioneers," or "The Pathfinder," testified to the univer- 
sal interest excited by the examples of simplicity, endur- 
ance, and sagacity which formed the subjects of Cooper's 
pen. In " The Pioneers," " The Last of the Mohicans," 
" The Prairie," " The Pathfinder," and " The Deer- 
slayer " figures the character of Leatherstocking, than 
whom no fictitious personage has a greater claim to inter- 
est. His bravery, resolution, and woodland skill make 
him a type of the hardy race who pushed westward the 
reign of civilization. The scenes among which he lived, 
the primeval forest, the great inland lakes, the hunter's 
camp, and Indian wigwam were described by Cooper with 
a fidelity and picturesqueness which will always give to 
his works a national value. Now that farms and manu- 
facturing towns cover what a century ago was a trackless 



308 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION; 

wilderness, where backwoodsmen and Indians shot bear 
and deer, it would be almost impossible for us to real- 
ize the previous condition of our now populous country 
were it not for the novels of Cooper. And this great 
writer not only described the wild aspect of American 
scenery and the hardly less wild features of pioneer 
character. He painted with equal skill the life of the 
American sailor, at a time when that life had an interest 
and excitement it no longer possesses. Long Tom Cof^n, 
Tom Tiller, Bob Yarn, belonged to a period when the 
United States was a maritime country, before American 
enterprise and industry were shut off from the sea by 
legislative imbecility. No marine novelist has given a 
more life-like impression of a ship than Cooper, and none 
have excelled him in descriptions of the sea and in studies 
of those peculiar forms of human nature produced by life 
on the ocean. So long as Cooper confined himself to 
purely national subjects, his success was brilliant and con- 
tinuous ; but many of his works show the effect of mis- 
directed talent, and have fallen into neglect. 

The " Legend of Sleepy Hollow," and " Rip Van 
Winkle " are the specimens of American fiction most in- 
timately associated with New York. In these stories the 
traditions and scenery of the Hudson River were treated 
by Washington Irving with all the richness of imagina- 
tion and delicacy of expression of which he had so great 
a store. Some part of that romantic interest afforded to 
the traveller by the castles of the Rhine, has been im- 
parted to the Hudson by the exquisite pages of the 
"Sketch Book." The stories of Nathaniel P. Willis and 
some of the novels of Bayard Taylor and of J. G. Hol- 
land also belong especially to New York. 

At the head of New England, and, indeed, of American 



THE NOVEL OF AMERICAN LIFE. 309 

writers of fiction, stands Nathaniel Hawthorne. His 
three great works, " The Scarlet Letter," " The House of 
the Seven Gables," and " The Blithedale Romance," are 
the finest specimens of imaginative writing which Ameri- 
can genius has yet produced. The iTiterest of Haw- 
thorne's novels lies almost entirely in their subtle and 
astute studies of the hidden workings of the human mind. 
His fictions are remarkable for their want of action. " The 
Scarlet Letter " can hardly be said to have a plot. The 
series of chapters which intervene between the exhibition 
of Hester Prynne on the scaffold and the voluntary self- 
exposure there of the Puritan minister, simply represent 
gradual changes from the first to the last situation of the 
principal characters. But narrative excitement w^as never 
Hawthorne's object, and the want of it is never felt by 
his reader. Each scene is an appropriate sequel to the 
last, and a natural introduction to the next. Each chap- 
ter has its special interest, — the analysis of a condition 
of mind, a dramatic situation, or a highly finished domes- 
tic picture. It is in the delineation of character and the 
study of human motives that Hawthorne's chief excel- 
lence as a novelist consists. Nothing can exceed the 
penetration and vividness with which such persons as Ze- 
nobia, in ''The Blithedale Romance," and Holgrave, in 
"The House of the Seven Gables," are described. The 
homeward walk of the fallen young minister, in " The 
Scarlet Letter," when he had resolved to desert his 
flock and to connect himself again with Hester Prynne, 
is an unsurpassed delineation of sudden moral degenera- 
tion. There is nothing of modern realism in Haw- 
thorne's novels, and yet they leave a realistic impression 
behind them. The greater number of his characters ap- 
pear to us rather as representatives of certain mental 



3IO HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION; 

(Conditions then as real flesh and blood. Neither in the 
dialogue, nor in what may be called the " properties " of 
his writings did Hawthorne strive at realistic effects. 
Still, when the reader lays down " The Scarlet Letter," 
or " The House of the Seven Gables," he insensibly feels 
himself embued with the spirit and atmosphere of Puritan 
New England. Hawthorne was so intensely a New 
Englander in his sympathies, prejudices, and habits of 
mind, that his writings were always colored by the 
thought and sentiment of his native land. In "The Scar- 
let Letter," there is little evidence of the use of histori- 
cal researches, and yet in that volume, colonial life has 
been made real and actual to us by the very intensity of 
the author's national feeling. 

New England fiction includes a number of other cele- 
brated and honored names. Catherine M. Sedgwick 
began her literary career with " Hope Leslie," a story 
founded on the early history of Massachusetts, which was 
followed by " Redwood " and " The Linvvoods, or Sixty 
Years Since in America." Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes 
studied New England village life in " Elsie Venner," and 
Sylvester J udd that of the Maine backwoods in " Pvlar- 
garet." Mr. T. W. Higginson has written " Malbone." 
Mr. W. D. Howells, Rev. Edward Everett Hale, and 
Miss E. S. Phelps are still adding to their reputations. 

Among the novels relating to life in the Southern 
States, *' Uncle Tom's Cabin " is the most prominent. 
The circulation and fame of this book have been the 
most remarkable phenomenon in the annals of literature. 
Within a year, more than two hundred thousand copies 
were sold in the United States, and fully a million in 
Eneland. Thirteen different translations were issued in 
Germany, four in France, and two in Russia ; the Magyar 



THE NOVEL OF AMERICAN LIFE. 31I 

language boasted three separate versions ; the Wallachi- 
an, two ; the Welsh, two ; and the Dutch, two ; while 
the Armenian, Arabic, Romaic, and all the European 
languages had at least one version. The book was dram- 
atized in not less than twenty different forms, and was 
acted all over Europe. In France, and still more in 
England, all other books and all other subjects became, 
for the time, secondary to " Uncle Tom's Cabin." This 
extraordinary popularity was chiefly due to the impor- 
tance and novelty of the subject treated. Mrs. Stowe im- 
parted a considerable narrative interest to her work, and 
gave to her characters a very life-like effect. Her pathetic 
and humorous scenes are natural and well arranged. 
The peculiarities of negro life and habits of thought are 
placed before the reader with genuine sympathy and 
truth. Uncle Tom and Topsy are fine and original 
creations. But taken simply as a novel, " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin " is not more remarkable than a hundred others, 
and cannot compete with such works as " Tom Jones," 
"Adam Bede," or " David Copperfield." Mrs. Stowe's 
extraordinary success was fully deserved, but it resulted 
less from the literary excellence of her work, than from 
the fact that when one great subject rose pre-eminent in 
the public mind, she was able to embody it in a popular 
and easily comprehended form. Gilmore Simms and 
John P. Kennedy have contributed largely to the novel 
of Southern life. Mr. G. W. Cable is now studying 
Louisiana characters, and Judge Tourgee the general 
condition of the South since the war. 

Novels descriptive of Western life have been written 
by Charles Fenno Hoffman, James Hall, Timothy Flint, 
Thomas^ and O'Connell. But none of these writers have 
given such original sketches of character, or have so 



312 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION, 

graphically portrayed the spirit of life in the far West as 
Mr. Bret Harte. " The Luck of Roaring Camp " and the 
other stories of this talented writer have opened a vein of 
romance where it was least expected. 

American fiction has been exceptionally rich in stories 
adapted to the juvenile mind, among which the most 
prominent are Mrs. Whitney's " Faith Gartney's Girl- 
hood," Miss Alcott's " Little Women," and Mr. T. B, 
Aldrich's " Story of a Bad Boy." Edgar Allan Foe's 
" Tales of the Grotesque and the Arabesque," are re- 
markable for intensity and vividness of conception, com- 
bined with a circumstantial invention almost equal to 
that of Defoe. Mrs. Burnett and Mr. J. W. De Forest 
are still writing excellent novels of American life; and 
Mr. Henry James, Jr., is studying that peculiar form of 
human nature known as the American in Europe.' 

VII. . 

The historical novel is obviously a subdivision of the 
novel of life and manners. But, dealing as it does with 
remote ages, with forgotten opinions and long-disused 
customs, it has to reconstruct where the novel of con- 
temporary life has only to illustrate. Strict historical 
accuracy can hardly be expected in fiction concerned 
with the past. The details of life, always difficult to 
seize, are almost beyond the reach of the novelist who 
deals with a subject with which he has had no personal 
experience. A certain amount of accuracy concerning 
dress, customs, peculiarities of opinion and language are 
necessary to give to a historical novel the effect of veri- 

' Other American writers of fiction : — R. B. Kimball, Herman Melville, 
Dr. R. Bird, John Neal, H. W. Longfellow, Washington Allston, Maria S. 
Cummins, W. G. Simms, Theodore Winthrop, Mary J. Holmes, Mrs.. 
Terhune, Augusta Evans Wilson, Catherine Sedgwick Valerio, 



THE HISTORICAL NOVEL. 313 

similitude. But what is chiefly requisite in such a work is 
that the general spirit of the period treated should be 
successfully caught ; that the reader should find himself 
occupied with a train of associations and sympathies 
which insensibly withdraws his thoughts from their 
ordinary channels, and occupies them with the beliefs, 
opinions, and aspirations of a totally different state of 
society. 

Such is the special merit of Scott's historical novels. 
Many inaccuracies of fact might be pointed out in them. 
His study of the character of James I, in " The Fortunes 
of Nigel," is in several respects entirely mistaken. His 
description of a euphuist in "The Monastery " bears no 
resemblance whatever to the followers of John Lyly. In 
"The Talisman" and in " Ivanhoe," of which the scenes 
are laid in the time of Richard Coeur de Lion, the reader 
recognizes little realism of language. But as Scott's his- 
torical novels deal with periods extending from that of 
the crusades down to the Pretender's attempt in 1745, an 
intimate knowledge of the innumerable social changes 
and peculiarities is not to be expected. 

It is, indeed, to be doubted that a novelist can so repro- 
duce a distant epoch as to satisfy the ideas of careful 
historical students. He can, however, make familiar to 
his readers the general spirit of a time. And, in this, 
Scott was eminently successful. " Kenilworth " gives a 
vivid picture of the gay picturesqueness of Elizabeth's 
age. " Woodstock " contains a fine contrast between 
the Cavalier and the Puritan character. " Quentin Dur- 
ward " affords a lasting impression of the times of Louis 
XI and Charles the Bold. Scott's strong national feel- 
ing and his intense sympathy with the traditions of his 
native land naturally gave to his Scotch fictions a par- 



314 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

ticular historical value. " The Legend of Montrose," 
describing the civil war in the sixteenth century ; " Old 
Mortality," dealing with the rebellion of the Covenant- 
ers ; and "Waverley," occupied with the Pretender's 
troubles in the middle of the eighteenth century, threw 
into bold relief widely differing periods of Scotch history. 
It is, indeed, extraordinary that one mind should have 
been able to seize so many and so varied historical con- 
ditions as are treated in the Waverley novels. Of these 
works, about fourteen deal with entirely distinct epochs, 
each one of which is given its individual character and 
obtains its appropriate treatment.' 

Bulwer Lytton's " Last Days of Pompeii," and " Har- 
old, the Last of the Saxon Kings," are both powerful, 
ingenious, and interesting narratives, and they give as 
definite an idea, perhaps, of the times of which they treat 
as is possible after so long a lapse of time. " Rienzi " 
leaves a greater impression of verisimilitude. " The Last 
of the Barons " is somewhat clogged by its superabun- 
dance of historic incident, but still affords a striking view 
of declining feudalism. In the " Tale of Two Cities " 
and " Barnaby Rudge," Dickens described the sanguinary 
scenes of the French Revolution and the Lord Gordon 
Riots with his never-failing power. Since the Waverley 
novels, the most perfect specimen of English historical 
fiction has been " Henry Esmond." The artistic con- 
struction of its plot, and the life-like reality of its charac- 
ters, place it first among Thackeray's works. But its 
pre-eminence among historical novels is due to the fact 
that it reproduces so vividly the spirit and atmosphere 

' Horace Smith, Sir T. D. Lauder, and G. P. R. James are well-known 
historical novelists who have written under the influence of Scott. W. Har- 
rison Ainsworth has made use of historical material in " The Tower of Lon- 
don," and similar writings. 



THE HISTORICAL NOVEL. 31 5 

of a past age. All the thoughts, opinions, and actions of 
the characters in " Henry Esmond " are such as we should 
expect from persons living in the beginning of the 
eighteenth century. Whoever is familiar with the pages 
of the "Spectator" will notice how faithfully Thackeray 
adopted the language of Steele and Addison. It is true 
that he had a far less difificult task before him in describ- 
ing the age of Queen Anne than fell to the lot of Bulwer 
Lytton in " The Last Days of Pompeii." The latter 
work required far more historical research and a far 
greater effort of the imagination. But while in Lytton's 
novel the reader cannot divest himself of a certain sense 
of unreality, he feels that " Henry Esmond" really carries 
him back to the period it portrays. 

George Eliot's " Romola " must always retain a high 
place in historical fiction. But its author's great creative 
power led her to bestow more pains on such of the char- 
acters as proceeded from her own imagination, than on 
those whom history provided ready-made. The reader's 
memory retains a more vivid impression of Tito than it 
does of Savonarola. Charles Kingsley's " Hypatia " and 
" Westward Ho ! " are among the most prominent of 
recent historical novels. The latter aimed at describing 
the time of Elizabeth, but resembles more closely that of 
Cromwell. ■ John Gibson Lockhart, in " Valerius," and 
Mr. Wilkie Collins in " Antonina," have studied the life 
of ancient Rome. James Fenimore Cooper in " The 
Spy" and "The Pioneers" threw into bold relief the 
stirring incidents of American colonial and revolutionary 
times. Nathaniel Hawthorne reproduced the spirit of 
Puritan New England in " The Scarlet Letter," of which 
mention has already been made. 



3l6 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION, 

VIII. 

The novel of purpose may be defined as a work of 
fiction of which the main object is to teach a lesson or 
to advocate a principle. Strictly speaking, every good 
novel has a purpose, or some well-defined aim, if it be 
only that of affording entertainment. But the novel of 
purpose distinctly subordinates the amusement of the 
reader to his improvement or information. With a few 
exceptions, such as " The Fool of Quality," this species 
of fiction is the product of the nineteenth century. It 
has special dif^culties to contend against. To combine 
a didactic aim with artistic excellence is among the most 
difificult of literary experiments. If the lesson or princi- 
ple to be inculcated be given too much prominence, the 
reader who opens the book for entertainment will shut it 
very soon in spite of any prospective self-improvement. 
If narrative interest or artistic beauty be the most strik- 
ing feature of the work, its serious aim will be unno- 
ticed. The safest plan for the writer of the novel of 
purpose to pursue, is to openly acknowledge his object, 
and to place that object before the reader in as attrac- 
tive a manner as possible. But he cannot expect to at- 
tain success unless the principle he advocates be one of 
general interest and importance. Nor can he expect, 
when that principle has obtained acceptance, that the 
work in which it is urged can have any further promi- 
nence. He must be content that his object is attained, 
and that his book, having served its purpose, falls into 
obscurity. 

Some of Miss Edgeworth's tales, and such novels as 
Miss Brunton's " Self-Control " and " Discipline," were 
among the earliest specimens of fiction having the pro- 



THE NOVEL OF PURPOSE. 317 

fessed object of moral improvement. These books were 
very popular at a time when a well-justified prejudice 
against novels prevailed. But since the character of fic- 
tion has been raised to its present standard of purity, 
professedly moral novels have become unnecessary for 
general reading. The successors of Miss Edgeworth's 
and Miss Brunton's works now appear in the form of 
temperance novels and Sunday-school books. A curious 
form of the novel of purpose is that written in the inter- 
est of religious sects or special tenets, of which speci- 
mens may be found in the writings of Elizabeth M. 
Sewell, who advocated High Church doctrines. Harriet 
Martineau made very successful use of fiction in convey- 
ing her ideas on political economy. In " Ginx's Baby," 
by Mr. Edward Jenkins, the popularity and interest of a 
political pamphlet has been greatly increased by the 
assistance of a narrative form. 

The most important specimens of the novel of pur- 
pose are those written in the interest of some injured or 
suffering class. A mere recital of general grievances is 
not likely to have much effect on the public mind. But 
a novelist who can interest a considerable body of readers 
in a few well-chosen characters, who can subjfxt his fic- 
titious personages to the evils which he means to expose, 
and thus arouse the sympathy and indignation of a large 
number of people, can make a novel of purpose a very 
effective weapon of reform. Individuals are much more 
interesting than bodies of men, and the sufferings of little 
Oliver Twist or of the inmates of Dotheboys Hall, as 
related by Dickens, will arouse public attention far more 
actively than the report of an examining committee. 
But although a novelist may accomplish great results by 
such devotion to a philanthrophic object, he can hardly 



3l8 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

avoid injury to the artistic effect and permanent value 
of his work. Many passages in Dickens* novels which 
have had a great influence in the cause of reform, cannot 
fail, in the future, when the evil exposed is no longer 
felt, to be a drag on the works which contain them. 

Charles Kingsley described the grievances of mechanics 
in "Alton Locke," a work in which the artistic elements 
are much subordinated to the didactic. A more power- 
ful novel of purpose is Mrs. Gaskell's " Mary Barton," 
which enlists the sympathies of the reader very strongly 
with the trials of the manufacturing classes. Not of more 
literary excellence, but dealing with a subject of far wider 
interest than that of "Mary Barton," Avas the " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin " of Mrs. Stowe. This work is a wonderful 
example of the capacities of fiction for moving the public 
mind. Before its publication, great numbers of ordi- 
narily humane people had a general, ill-defined horror of 
slavery. It was felt to be a barbarous institution, a blot 
on American civilization. But to most people it was a 
distant abuse, with which they seldom or never came in 
contact, and of which they only heard the evil effects in 
a general way. But with the publication of " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin " the whole Northern public were brought 
face to face with the question of slavery. Here were in- 
dividuals, made real and interesting by the power of the 
novelist, subjected to tyranny and suffering from which 
every generous nature recoiled. Slavery then assumed 
a new and more personal aspect, and thousands who were 
indifferent to the rights of the negroes in general felt a 
sympathy with the fate of Uncle Tom which easily ex- 
tended to the sufferings of the whole race. But the ex- 
traordinary reputation and circulation given to " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin " by the world-wide interest in its subject, 



THE NOVEL OF FANCY. 319 

could not be sustained when public interest in that 
subject declined; and the volume which at one time 
occupied the attention of the whole civilized world, 
fell into comparative obscurity when its mission was 
accomplished. 

IX. 

Works of fiction occupied with purely imaginary or 
supernatural subjects have been comparatively rare. 
While Byron, Shelley and his wife were living at the Lake 
of Geneva, a rainy week kept them indoors, and all three 
occupied themselves with reading or inventing ghost 
stories. Mrs. Shelley, who was the daughter of Godwin 
the novelist, and who inherited his intensity of imagina- 
tion, reproduced the impressions then made upon her 
mind in the remarkable but disagreeable romance of 
" Frankenstein." The story is related by a young stu- 
dent, who creates a monstrous being from materials gath- 
ered in the tomb and the dissecting-room. When the 
creature is made complete with bones, muscles, and skin, 
it acquires life and commits atrocious crimes. It murders 
a friend of the student, strangles his bride, and finally 
comes to an end in the Northern seas. While some parts 
of the story are written with considerable power, the 
general effect is exceedingly unpleasant. Bulvver Lytton's 
" Zanoni," a peculiarly fanciful work, unfolds the myste- 
ries of the Rosicrucians. In "Alice's Adventures in Won- 
derland," the freaks and vagaries of the imagination in 
sleep are vividly traced. The curious mixture of the 
actual and the unreal, the merging of wholly different 
ideas in one conception, so frequent in dreams, are 
described with extraordinary skill and delicacy. The 
childlike simplicity of Alice's mind is charmingly main- 
tained, and the exquisite; vein of humor which runs 



320 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

through the whole book makes it one of the most deh'ght 
ful as well as one of the most remarkable of fictions. 

X. 

In an article published in The Nineteenth Century, Mr. 
Anthony Trollope expressed his views on the good and 
evil influences exerted by works of fiction, and he has 
repeated very much the same opinions in his interesting 
book on Thackeray/ " However poor your matter may 
be," he says, " however near you may come to that ' fool- 
ishest of existing mortals,' as Carlyle presumes some un- 
fortunate novelist to be, still, if there be those who read 
your works, they will undoubtedly be more or less influ- 
enced by what they find there. And it is because the 
novelist amuses that he is thus influential. The sermon 
too often has no such effect, because it is applied with 
the declared intention of having it. The palpable and 
overt dose the child rejects ; but that which is cunningly 
insinuated by the aid of jam or honey is accepted un- 
consciously, and goes on its curative mission. So it is 
with the novel. It is taken because of its jam and honey. 
But, unlike the honest, simple jam and honey of the 
household cupboard, it is never unmixed with physic. 
There will be the dose within it, either curative or poison- 
ous. The girl will be taught modesty or immodesty, 
truth or falsehood ; the lad will be taught honor or dis- 
honor, simplicity or affectation. Without the lesson the 
amusement will not be there. There are novels which 
certainly can teach nothing ; but then neither can they 
amuse any one. I should be said to insist absurdly on 
the power of my own confraternity if I were to declare 
that the bulk of the young people in the upper and mid- 

' In Mr. John Morley's edition of " English Men of Letters," chapter ix. 



USE AND ABUSE OF FICTION. 32 1 

die classes receive their moral teaching chiefly from the 
novels they read. Mothers would no doubt think of their 
own sweet teaching ; fathers of the examples which they 
set ; and schoolmasters of the influence of their instruc- 
tions. Happy is the country that has such mothers, 
fathers, schoolmasters ! But the novelist creeps in closer 
than the schoolmaster, closer than the father, closer al- 
most than the mother. He is the chosen guide, the tutor 
whom the young pupil chooses for herself. She retires 
with him, suspecting no lesson, safe against rebuke, 
throwing herself head and heart into the narration as 
she can hardly do into her task-work ; and there she is 
taught how she shall learn to love ; how she shall receive 
the lover when he comes ; how far she should advance to 
meet the joy ; why she should be reticent, and not throw 
herself at once into this new delight. It is the same with 
the young man, though he would be more prone even 
than she to reject the suspicion of such tutorship. But 
he, too, will there learn either to speak the truth, or to lie ; 
and will receive from his novel lessons either of real man- 
liness, or of that affected apishness and tailor-begotten 
demeanor which too many professors of the craft give 
out as their dearest precepts." 

Such are the views of a close observer of human nat- 
ure, whose works have had an exceedingly wide and an 
always excellent influence. While Mr. TroUope has 
probably exaggerated the educational power of the novel, 
it cannot be denied that this form of literature takes a 
considerable part in moulding the opinions and standards 
of the young. The impressions of life derived from 
novels are almost as strong as those we receive from 
what is passing in the world about us. If a work of fic- 
tion form a truthful reflection of nature, it must hold up 



322 HISTOR V OF ENGLISH FICTION-. 

to the reader's view examples of evil as well as examples 
of good ; it must deal with depravity as well as with virt- 
ue. And, therefore, all that can be expected from the 
novelist is that he should endeavor to represent life as it 
is, with its due apportionment of beauty and of ugliness. 
And so much is demanded not only by the moralist, but 
by the critic. Many writers who have described the life 
of criminals, who have endeavored to make infamous 
careers attractive, and have pandered to the lower tastes 
of the reading public, would urge in their own defence : 
that they have nothing to do with morality ; that their 
object is to produce a work of art ; that no question of 
the good or evil effect of their writing should be allowed 
to trammel their imagination. But the critic would 
rightly reply, that truth at least must be respected in a 
work of art ; that the imagination must not be allowed 
the liberty of misrepresentation ; and that the novelist in 
whose pages vice predominates, or is given an alluring 
aspect, is no more artistic than the writer of Sun- 
day-school books. In judging the influence exerted 
by the great body of writers of fiction whose names 
have been mentioned in this chapter, I shall there- 
fore proceed on the understanding that that novel- 
ist who writes almost exclusively of good people is not 
necessarily the one whose influence has been the best, 
nor that he who has drawn many weak or evil-doing 
characters has necessarily taught the worst lessons. The 
standard by which we must judge an author, as well from 
an artistic as from a moral point of view, must be founded 
on the recognition that both good and evil prevail in 
the world, and that whoever undertakes to give a picture 
of life must paint both the evil and the good in their 
true colors. 



USE AND ABUSE OF FICTION. 323 

In commenting on the fiction of the eighteenth cent- 
ury, its prevailing coarseness was reprehended. But this 
characteristic was objected to on the score of taste, but 
not at all on that of truth or morality. The novelist of 
that time would not have faithfully represented the so- 
ciety about him had he not allowed himself that license 
which universally prevailed. Nor could the coarseness of 
the eighteenth-century writer be objected to on moral 
grounds. Morality is concerned with thoughts, not with 
expression. Whether we speak plainly the ideas in our 
mind, whether we communicate them by means of some 
circumlocution, or whether we keep them wholly to our- 
selves, is a matter of fashion, not of morality.' Our 
great-grandmothers were not less chaste because they 
spoke of things regarding which we remain silent in a 
mixed society ; they were simply less squeamish. Mrs. 
Behn in her day, and Fielding in his, described a li- 
centious scene openly and honestly without a suspicion 
of evil. 

But a great change has come over public taste, and I 
may even say over public morality, during the present 
century. Licentious conduct is no longer a venial of- 
fence ; gross and immodest expressions are no longer 
allowed in respectable society. The improvement has cer- 
tainly been great, although not as great as it seems. Out 
of our higher morality, out of our new and boasted refine- 
ment, has sprung a vice more ugly than coarseness, more 
degrading than sensuality — and that vice is hypocrisy, 
which shelters all others behind its deceptive mask. 
Many a parent now winks at the hidden vice of a son, 
the exposure of which would fill him with shame and in- 
dignation. Thousands of young men feel that they can 

' See Macaulay on " The Comic Dramatists." 



324 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

privately lead a life of dissipation, so long as they keep a 
respectable face to the world. It is not the vice that 
society punishes, it is the being found out. So when we 
think of our improved morality and refinement, we must 
temper our pride with the reflection that we may be 
simply more hypocritical, and not more virtuous than our 
ancestors. Still, the fact that licentiousness must now wear 
a mask of respectability, that social status is now greatly 
affected by moral worth, shows that a real advance has 
been made. This advance has left plainly marked traces 
on the fiction of our time, where, too, we shall find plenti- 
ful evidence of that hypocrisy which has become our be- 
setting sin. 

As we look back upon the list of the great authors who 
have written in the present century, it must be with a 
feeling of gratitude for the benefits they have conferred. 
They have devoted their lives to the production of liter- 
ary works, the beauty and excellence of which have in- 
calculably elevated the public taste. They have held up 
ideals and noble conceptions which insensibly impart a 
dignity to life, and an encouragement to youthful aspira- 
tion. They have described so truthfully and sympatheti- 
cally the character and aims of different classes and 
different peoples, that whoever reads their works cannot 
but feel himself drawn nearer to great divisions of the 
human race, which he had hitherto regarded with an in- 
different or a prejudiced eye. The novels of Scott, of 
Dickens, of Thackeray, of George Eliot, of Miss Austen, 
of Miss Ferrier, of very many others, have afforded to 
hundreds of thousands, young and old, a never failing 
source of healthful entertainment. Domestic life, as well 
in the cottage as the castle, has been cheered and en- 
livened by their presence. Their examples of heroism, 



USE AND ABUSE OF FICTION. 325 

of patience, of generosity, have excited the emulation 
of the young, while their pictures of selfishness and vice 
have stifled many an evil inclination and have given birth 
to many a good resolution. 

Such writers as these have expressed the best tenden- 
cies of the age. And they have been able to do so be- 
cause they themselves are among the best men and 
women of their time. But, unfortunately, as the nine- 
teenth century has many evil characteristics, and as de- 
praved and weak-minded persons are often endowed with 
some literary capacity, a great deal of poisonous matter 
has unavoidably come to the surface in English fiction. 
The writers who have prostituted their talents in pan- 
dering to the low tastes of their readers, have carefully 
avoided any such open representation of vice as was per- 
missible in the last century. But they have hidden under 
an outward respectability of words the most immoral and 
degrading thoughts. They have recognized the fact that 
a not inconsiderable number of persons would be glad to 
find in a work of fiction the same gross ideas which occu- 
py their own minds. And thus a more dangerous, be- 
cause a more insidious, species of literature has sprung 
up. The absence of parental censorship, the general 
freedom with which works of fiction are allowed to enter 
almost every household, permit these novels to fall into 
the hands of the youngest and most susceptible. The 
young girl or boy whose parents carefully put away the 
newspaper which contains an account of a divorce trial 
or a rape, is very possibly reading a novel of which the 
main interest lies in a detailed description of a seduc- 
tion. It is not of the so-called "dime novels" or of the 
stories published in a police gazette to which reference is 
made, but to books issued by respectable publishers and 



326 HISTORY OF ENGLISH FICTION. 

often written by women. Of these novels, the subject is 
the unlawful gratification of the passions. Bigamy, se- 
duction, adultery, are the incidents on which the story 
turns, and an effort is always made by the novelist to 
give to the sinners as attractive and interesting an aspect 
as possible, and to hold up any respectable people who 
may appear in the book to the contempt and derision of 
the reader. Perhaps we would be wrong in blaming a 
writer for his or her vulgarity. This is a fault into which 
some authors fall unconsciously, and is a part of their 
nature which they cannot shake off. If Rhoda Brough- 
ton or " Ouida" were to cease being vulgar in print, they 
would be obliged to stop writing altogether — a public 
benefit which we can hardly expect them to confer. But 
we have a right to severely call an author to task for 
representing vice in an attractive aspect, for condoning 
offences against morality, for depicting licentiousness as 
unattended by r'='tributive consequences. In so doing, a 
writer is false"'' art and to nature, as well as to morality. 
Critics have t. one their utmost to discourage and ex- 
pose this kind of literature. The pages of The Spectator, 
of The Saturday Review, of TJie Atlienceum, oi The Lon- 
don Examiner, of The Nation, are full of reviews which 
denounce in unmeasured terms the vulgarity and pruri- 
ency of much of the fiction of the present day. But 
their censure can have little practical effect. So long as 
a class of corrupt readers exists, so long will evil-minded 
men and women find a sale for the low conceptions of 
their depraved minds. Parents alone, by supervising the 
reading of their children. Can prevent the evil effects of 
immoral novels. Some may think that I have exagger- 
ated the bad characteristics of modern fiction. A few 
examples of objectionable works will be found at the 



USE AND ABUSE OF FICTION. 32/ 

foot of this page/ an acquaintance with which will sus- 
tain my remarks. 

The reader may possibly object that these are obscure 
names in literature, and that they represent writers 
whose works are ephemeral. The names chosen are the 
most prominent in the class to which they belong. Their 
obscurity is a redeeming feature of the society which can 
tolerate their existence. Although writers are able to 
find a sale for the most disgusting productions ; although 
the critic is continually obliged, in reviewing current lit- 
erature, to wade through the nastiest mire, it yet remains 
certain that public taste is not pleased with the vile. A 
limited circulation will be found for immoral novels 
among a depraved class, but it is to be said, for the credit 
of the nineteenth century, that talents prostituted can 
never bring fame. The conceptions of a Goldsmith, a 
Scott, a Dickens, a Thackeray, a George Eliot, remain 
among the dearest possessions of all English-speaking 
people. But the unhealthy, unnatural, \ hideous pict- 
ures given to the world by vicious ..en and women 
receive the same wages as the sin they portray. 

*See "Strathmore," and others, by " Ouida " ; " Not Wisely, But Too 
Well," " Red as a Rose Is She," " Joan," by Rhoda Rroughtou ; "Cherry 
Ripe," by Helen Mathers; "The Lovels of Arden," by Miss Braddon ; 
" Under Which Lord?" by Mrs. E. L. Linton; "A Romance of the 
Nineteenth Century," by W. H. Mallock ; "Children of Nature," by the 
Earl of Desart. A long list of very nasty books might easily be added, but 
these will be sufficient to illustrate the bad tendencies of fiction, and to 
show how thoroughly female authors have kept pace in immodesty and in- 
decency with their rivals of the less pretentious sex. 



THE END. 





INDEX. 






Addison , . 


. 180 


Cable, G. W. 




311 


Ainsvvorth, H. 


• 303 


Calprenede . 




119 


Alcott, Miss . 


. 312 


Carleton, W. 




285 


Aldrich. T. B. 


. 312 


Chamier, Capt. 




304 


Alexander, Mrs. 


. 288 


Charlemagne . 


2] 


[, 24 


Alice's Adventures in 


Wonder- 


Chaucer 




42 


land . 


• 319 


Chetwind, Mrs. 




291 


Allston.W. . 


. 312 


Chivalry, Decline of 




45 


Amadis of Gaul 


. . 46 


Origin of 




II 


" Arcadia," Greene's 


. . 83 


Rise of 




9 


Sidney's 


. 92 


Romances of, chap 




I 


" Argenis " . 


. 10 1, note 


Theory and Practic 


e of . 


14 


Arthur, King 


21, 30 


Clarke, M. C. 




291 


Combat with Accolon . 31 


Cobbold, R. . 


302, 


note 


Atalantis, The New 


. 123 


Coke, H. 


302, 


note 


Austen, Jane . 


. 287 


Collins, M. 


302, 


note 






Collins, W. . 


292, 


31S 


Banim, John . 


. 285 


Cooper, J. F. 


307, 


315 


Barclay, Robert 


. 101, note 


Coslello, L. S. 




291 


Barham, R. H. 


. 291 


Craik, G. 




295 


Beck ford, W. 


• 247 


Croker, T. C. 




281 


Behn, Aphra . 


• 125 


Ciowe, C. 




291 


Bird, R. 


. 312 


Crowe, Mrs. . 




291 


Black, W. . 


. 284 


Crowley, G. . 


302, 


note 


Blessington, Mrs. . 


. 302, note 


Cumberland, R. 




247 


Boyle, Roger 


. 121 


Cummins, M. S. 




312 


Brackenridge, H. H. 


• 307 


Cunninghani, A. 




284 


Braddon, M. E. 


, 327, 28S 








Bray, A. E. . 


. 291 


Dacre, Lady . 


. 302, 


note 


Brooke, H. . 


• 243 


Dana, R. H. 


. 


307 


Brooks, S. 


302, note 


D' Arblay, Mme. . 




251 


Broughton, R. 


. 327 


Defoe, D. 


. 


183 


Brown, C. B. 


. 306 


De Forest, J. W. . 


. 


312 


Brunton, Miss 


. 316 


Deloney, T. . 




51 


Bunbury, S. . 


. 291 


De Quincey, T. 


302, 


note 


Bunyan, John 


. 106 


Desart, Earl of 




327 


Burnett, Mrs. 


. 312 


Dickens, C. 


295 


314 


Burney, Miss 


. 251 


D' Israeli, B. 


. 


292 


Burj', Lady C. 


. 302, note 


Drury, A. H. 




291 

s 



328 



INDEX. 



329 



Edgeworth, M. 


. . 285 


Higginson, T. W. 






310 


" Eliana " 


. 121 


Hoffman, C. F. 






311 


Eliot, George 


. 288, 315 


Ilogg ■ 






284 


Ellis, G. . 


. 291 


Holcroft, T. 






248 


" Euphues " . 


• -^J^ 


, Holland, J. G. 






308 


Euphuism 


76, 82, note 


Holmes, M. J. 






312 


Excalibur 


26, 39 


Holmes, O. W. 
Hook, Theodore 






310 
291 


Ferrier, Miss 


. 284, 287 


Hope's "Anastasius 


" 




305 


Fielding, Henry 


. 203 


Howard 






304 


Flint, T. 


. 3" 


Howells, W. D 






310 


Ford, E. 


47, note 


Howitt, M. . 






291 


Eraser, J. B. 


• 305 


Howitt, W. . 




302 


Jiote 


Fraser-Tytler, C. C. 


. 291 


Hubback, Mrs. 






291 


Friar Bacon 


• 52 


Hughes, Thomas . 






292 


Friar Rush 


• 54 


Humor in Sidney's ' ' Arcadia " 


100 


Fullerton, Lady G. 


. 291 


in the "Morte d' Arthur," 


40 


Fullom, S. W. 


302, note 


Ideality in Fiction 




III 


Galahad, Sir 


35. 37 


Igraine . 




25 


Gait, John . 


. 284 


Inchbald, Mrs. 




255 


Gaskell, Mrs. 


. 287, 318 


Irving, W. 




308 


Geoffrey of Monmouth 


. 24 


Isould 




34 


" George-a-Gveen " 


. 50 








Glassock, Capt. 


• 304 


"Jack, the Giant-killer' 




24 


Gleig, G. R. 


. 304 


James, G. P. R. . 




314 


Godwin, Francis 


lor, note 


James, H., Jr. 




312 


Godwin, W. , 


. 248 


Jenkins, E. . 




317 


Goldsmith, O. 


• 237 


Jerrold, Douglas 


302 


note 


Gomberville . 


. 119 


Jewsbury, Geraldine 




291 


Gore, Mrs. 


302, note 


Johnson, Dr. 




234 


Grant, James 


• 304 


Johnson, R. . 


46, 


note 


Grant, M. M. 


. 291 


Jolinstone, C. 




■2.AP 


Grattan, T. C. 


. 286 


Johnstone, Mrs. 




284 


Graves 


. 248 


Judd. S. . . . 




310 


Greene, Robert 


. 82 








Griffin, Gerald 


. 286 


Kavanagh, Miss 




291 


Guenever 


. 23, 34, 39 


Kennedy, J. P. . 




3" 


Gulliver's Travels 


• 173 


Kimball, R. B, 




312 






Kingsley, C. . • ^9 


I, 315 


318 


Hale, E. E. . 


. 310 








Hall, J. 


. 311 


" Lady of the Lake " 


, 


26 


Hall. S. C. . 


. 286 


Lamb, Lady C. 


302, 


note 


Hamilton, E. 


. 284 


Launcelot 


22, 34. 39 


Hannay, J. 


. 302, twte 


Lauder, Sir T. D. 


284, 


314 


Hardy, T. . 


, 302, note 


Lawrence, Geo. A. 




303 


Harte, Bret . 


. 312 


" Lear, King " 




24 


Hawthorne, N. 


■ 309 


Lee, Harriet and Sophia 




256 


" Helyas " 


46, note 


Lennox, C. . 




254 


Heroic Romance . 


. 119 


Lever, C. J. . 




286 


Heywood, Mrs. 


• 193 


Lewes, G. H. 




302, 


note 



330 



INDEX. 



Lewis 

Linton, E. L. 
Lister, T. H. 
Lockhart 
Lodge, T. 
Longfellow, H. W. 
/~ Lover, S. 

' Lyiy. J- 

"Ttytton, Bulwer 

MacCarthy, J. 
MacDonald, G. 
Mackay, C. . 
Mackenzie, H. 
Macquoid, Mrs. 
Malory, Sir Thomas 
Mallock, W. H. 
" Man in the Moon 
Manley, Mrs. 
Mapes, Walter 
Marryat, Capt. 
Marryat, F. . 
Marsh, Mrs. . 
Martineau, H. 
Mathers, H. 
Maturin 
Maxwell, W. H 
Meliadus 
Melville, H. 
Merlin . 
Miller, H. . 
Miller, T. 
Mitford, M. R. 
Moir 

Moore, Dr. . 
Moore, Sir T. 
Morier, J. 
Morgan, Lady 
Morgana 

Morley, Countess of 
*' Morte d' Arthur " 
Mulock, Miss 



Napier, E. 

Neal, J. 

Newcastle, Duchess of 

Normanby, Marquis of 

Norton, Hon. Mrs. 



. 26g 

• 327 
302, note 
284, 315 

88 
. 312 
. 285 

• 75 
293, 3i4, 319 



Novel, Development of, see 
Addison, Defoe, Richardson, 
Fielding. 



. 2S6 
. 284 
302, note 
. 241 
. 291 

• 25 
327, no/e 
loi, jtote 

123 
24 

304 
291 
2gi 
317 
327 
269 

304 

25 

312 

24 

284 

302, note 

2S8 

284 

248 

56 

305 

286 

26 

302, note 

24, 40 

. 288 

• 304 
. 312 
. 122 

302, note 
291 



Novel, in the xixth Century 

of American Life 

of English Life 

of Iribh Life . 

of Scotch Life 

, Criminal 

, Fashionable 

, Historical 

, Immoral 

, Military 

, Muscular 

, Naval . 

, Oriental 

of Fancy 

of Purpose 

O'Connell 

Oliphant, Mrs. 

Opie, Mrs. 

" Ornatus and Artesia ' 

" Oroonoko " 

Orrery, Earl of 

Ouida 

Palmerin of England 
Palomides, Sir 
" Pandosto " . 
Pardoe, Miss 
" Parismus" . 
Parthenissa 
Payn, J. 
Peacock, T. L. 
Pendragon, Uther 
Perceval le Gallois 
" Pheander " 
Phelps, E. S. 
Philips, S. . . 
"Philomela" 
Picken 

" Pilgrim's Progress'' 
Poe, E. A. . 
Porter, Jane 
Porter, Maria 
Power, M. A. 

Radcliffe, Ann 
Reach, A. B. 
Reade, C. 
Realism 
Reeve, Clara 
Religious Revival 



274 

305 
291 

285 
280 

303 
302 
312 
325 
304 
303 
304 
305 

319 
316 

311 
284 
2S6 

46, note 
126 

121 

303. 327 

. 46 
• 35 
. 85 
. 305 

47, note 
. 121 

302, note 

302, note 

25 

25 

47, tjote 

310 

302, note 

86 

284 

108 

312 

284 

284 

291 

265 
302, note 
291 
279 
264 
220 



INDEX. 



331 



X\ 



Richardson, Samuel 
Ritchie, L. 
Robin Hood , 
" Robert the Devil 
Roberts, H. . 
Romantic Revival 
" Rosalynde " 
Round Table 
Rowson, S. 



" Saint Greal " 

Sala, Geo. Aug. 

Scott, Michael 

Scott, Sir Walter 

Scuderi . 

Sedgwick, C. M. 

" Seven Champions of 
tendom " 

Sewell, E. 

Sewell, E. M. 

Shelley, Mrs. 

Sidney, Sir Philip 

Simms, G. 

Simms, W. 

Sinclair, C. . 

Smedley, F. E. 

Smith, A. 

Smith, C. 

Smith, H. 
t^Sniollett, T. 
,- Sterne, L. 

St. John, J. A. 

Stowe, H. B. 

Stretton, H. , 

Strickland, A. 

Swift. J. 

Tautphoeus, Baroness 





193 1 


302, note 


• 47 


47, note 


47, ftote 


■ 259 


. 88 


. 26, 33, 38 


. 306 


25, 35 


302, note 


■ 304 


. 280, 313 


. 119 


. 310 


Chris- 


46, 7iote 


. 291 




317 




319 




91 




311 




312 




291 


302, noie 


302, note 


■ 257 


• 314 


. 211 


. 231 


302, fto/e 


. 310, 318 


. 291 


. 291 


. 170 




287 



Taylor, B. 
Terhune, Mrs. 
Thackeray, Miss 
Thackeray, W. M. 
Thomas 

" Thomas of Read 
Thornbury, W. 
" Tom-a-Lincoln " 
Tourgee, Judge 
Trelawney 
Tristram 
Trollope, A. , 
Trollope, Mrs. 
Trollope, T. A. 
Tupper, M. F. 
Turner, T., Diary 
Tytler, S. 

Valerio, C. S. 

Walpole, Horace 
Ward, R. Plumer 
Warren, S. 
Wetherell, E. 
Whitly, E. M. 
Whitney, Mrs. 
Whyte-Melville, G, 
Wilson, A. E. 
Wilson, Prof. 
Williams, F. . 
Willis, N. P. 
Winthrop, T. 
Wood, Mrs. H 
Wraxall, C. L. 

Yates, E. 
Yonge, Miss . 



ng 



of 



. 308 

. 312 

. 2S7 

298, 314 

• 311 

• 50 
302, note 

. 46 

• 3" 

• 304 
25. 30, 34 

294. 295 

. 287 

302, fto/e 

302, noie 

. 221 

. 291 

. 312 

• 259 
. 291 
. 291 
. 291 

302, nofe 
. 312 

302, noie 
■ 312 
. 284 

302, note 
. 308 
. 312 
. 287 

302, tiotg 

302, nofe 
. 287 



